Into the Abyss
by LostinOblivion
Summary: The team rallies around Emily when she becomes sick while on a case, only to discover that it's something far worse than they imagined. Team-whup. Prentiss-uber whump.
1. Chapter 1

_This is set in season six (when I started writing it), after JJ leaves (though she will be in this story), and before the only Lauren-Doyle arc. This is the only chapter that will feature Seaver. There are no pairings. Spoilers for Demonology, Risky Business, possibly others that I can't think of.  
_

_Warnings: language, violence, and some sexual content. I'll elaborate on this a little later on. Just remember that it's rated M for a reason._

_I don't own CM or the Evanescence lyrics below.  
_

* * *

_"I believe that dreams are sacred._  
_Take my darkest fears and play them_  
_Like a lullaby,_  
_Like a reason why,_  
_Like a play of my obsessions,_  
_Make me understand the lesson,_  
_So I'll find myself,_  
_So I won't be lost again. "_

_-Evanescence, All That I'm Living For_

Emily massaged her temples, willing the headache from Hell to dissipate. She wasn't exactly optimistic, it had been getting progressively worse over the weekend. Part of her was well aware that, that was not normal, and she should probably go to a doctor. The rest of her was firmly set in denial and hoping that work would take her mind off it, and thereby make it not quite so bad.

"Prentiss, you okay?" She turned to see Morgan eyeing her with concern, fingers frozen on the pages of the case file he'd been studying. The same one she was supposed to be studying.

"Yeah, just headache won't go away." She was diagonally across from him, Reid was straight across from her, and the young cadet, Seaver, was beside her.

"Did you take something for it?" Reid asked.

"Yes. I seriously exceeded the recommended dosage on a few different bottles this weekend. Nothing worked."

"You've had this all weekend?" Morgan was immediately alarmed.

"It'll go away eventually," she insisted.

"You should see a doctor." Reid was probably right, but it didn't stop her from glaring at him.

"Have you been sleeping?"

She shifted her glare to Morgan. Since when did he have an MD? "Some."

He leant toward her, two fingers bent, barely touching her forehead, before she slapped his hand away with far more force than she intended, startling all four of them. "Sorry," she mumbled.

Morgan was now even more concerned, and she found herself awfully tempted to hit him again. Seaver had inched away, and Emily resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Maybe you ought to head to the hotel when we land, try to get a nap in." It was out of friendly concern, but Emily found herself instantly infuriated by it, so much that she forced it to the back of her brain, and had to shake off the unease it left.

"I'll be fine," she said softly. "I need the distraction."

Morgan nodded, but she could tell from the look on his face, his first conversation when they got off the jet was going to be a few quiet words with Hotch. She was fully expecting to be switched from visiting the crime scene to victimology, which was fine, a puzzle was a puzzle, and it was bright and sunny in New York anyway. Sunshine was not her friend right now.

* * *

Sending her back early to get some rest wasn't helping in the slightest. Morgan had-risking his hand-managed to get his fingers to her forehead earlier, and determined that she was a little warm. Cue sarcastic comment floating out of her mouth about his recent awarding of a medical degree. Cue Hotch "suggesting" she head back to the hotel and rest, he was sure she'd feel better tomorrow after some sleep. She'd nearly drawn blood, she'd bit her tongue so hard to keep an unkind comment at bay.

Emily was well aware that sleep-deprived wasn't her most pleasant state. Sick was even worse, but this was bad even by her standards. Seaver, though normally her shadow, had gone to great pains to avoid her today. Even Garcia was on eggshells when they were on the phone, that more than anything was an indicator. Penelope Garcia was not the type to let her get away with being a bitch.

Of course, this whole going to the hotel early thing might work better if her head didn't feel like it was literally splitting in half. She'd been trying to fall asleep for two hours, and had absolutely no success. It wasn't a surprise, between the headache and the seriously warped dreams, she hadn't slept much over the weekend either, twenty minutes here, thirty minutes there, an hour if she was lucky. And, Emily was fairly certain she was treading along the edge of sanity at this point. A person could only go so long without a REM cycle before they became delirious, or worse. Then she heard a noise that made her seriously question if she hadn't lost it already.

Whispering.

Emily shook her head, and burrowed deeper into the pillow. It was the wind outside, or the heat, or the people next door. That would mean that the team got back. Emily drew the covers fully over her head, blacking out the already dark room, and sighed miserably to herself. Fucking headache. Fucking weird dreams.

More whispering. High pitched, like kids passing secrets.

She tried to ignore it, slapped the pillow over her head, and huddled further under the sheets. It didn't work, she could still hear it. It wasn't a steady stream, just bits and pieces that sounded from different directions, like people were taking turns whispering. Emily gave up and threw the blankets off herself.

The sound grew exponentially louder, like there were people all over the room, whispering at once. It pierced her already aching head, and Emily had to put her hands on either side of her skull for fear the pressure would make it burst. She climbed out of bed, and took slow, clumsy steps toward the light switch, still holding her head.

It didn't work. The switch moved, but the light didn't go on. "Oh, goddamn it," she hissed.

Groaning and moving with even less grace, Emily moved toward the bathroom, but was stopped when she smacked into a dresser. She cried out as her hip slammed into the corner, and a lamp rocked and shattered on the ground. Still trying to hold her aching head, Emily tried to move out of the way, but her balance was off, so she tripped and fell. She cried out again as her hands landed hard on the broken glass.

Groaning and trembling, Emily pushed herself off of the floor, and stumbled into the bathroom, ignoring the glass cutting into her feet. She made it inside, grabbing the door, and moaning at the pain of the pressure on her cut-up hands. Eyes beginning to water, Emily slid onto the floor, her breathing rapid and shallow, the pressure in her head so intense, she felt certain her brain would explode.

* * *

The Next Morning

Hotch had just finished knotting his tie when a shy knock sounded on his door. He slid on his black blazer, and walked across the hotel room, peering through the peephole. He frowned, but it disappeared before he opened the door. Seaver looked anxious, her fingers dancing together, but to her credit, at seeing him she cleared her throat and straightened up.

"Agent Seaver, may I help you?"

"Um, sir I was wondering if Agent Prentiss was joining us today?"

"If she's feeling better. I need to talk to her," he said.

"Of course." She looked down, and he could see she was already beating herself up for the 'stupid' question.

"I'm sure she appreciates your concern though," he said gently. Hotch was all for training and mentoring new agents, but there was a reason their team didn't do it. They couldn't afford to babysit new agents, not with their work.

He turned at the sound of knocking. Morgan was already at Prentiss's door, gently tapping on it, and calling her name. Rossi came out of the room next to hers, glancing at the three people in the hallway, eyebrows raising in curiosity.

"Good morning everyone. Impromptu convention?" He asked.

Morgan stopped knocking, and pulled out his cell phone. Hotch closed his door, and walked over to Rossi. "Agent Seaver was concerned about Prentiss, apparently so is Morgan."

"She was in pretty bad shape yesterday," Rossi said. Hotch nodded in agreement.

Morgan snapped his phone shut. "Hotch," he called.

"She's not answering?" He asked.

Morgan shook his head. "Not her door, not her phone, but I can hear it ringing inside."

Hotch nodded, and walked back to his room. He always got copies of everyone's room keys, just in case they needed to get in. It was cheaper for the Bureau than Morgan kicking down another door. He returned again to the hallway to find the trio looking rather nervous.

Hotch slid the key into the slot, watched the light turn green, and pushed it open slowly. "Prentiss?"

He flicked on the light, and held back the curse that formed on his lips at the sight of broken glass and blood. Hotch turned toward Seaver. "Go get Reid. Do not come in unless I instruct you to, understand?"

She frowned, but nodded, looking almost frightened. After she walked down the hall, Hotch pushed the door open further, and pulled out his gun. Morgan hissed at the sight of the glass, and he heard both him and Rossi slide their guns out of their holsters. Slowly and carefully, they swept into the room, checking the closet and avoiding the glass. Hotch got to the bathroom first, and found himself at a complete loss for maybe the first time in his life.

"Oh god," Morgan breathed beside him, springing into action while Hotch was stunned to inaction.

Prentiss was sitting on the floor, her body pressed into a wall, staring off into space, tears running down her cheeks. Blood was smeared up near her temples and in her hair, her head resting limping against the wall, cut and bloody hands equally limp in her lap.

"Emily?" Morgan asked gently, crouching down next to her. He repeated himself, and gently touched her shoulder. "Emily?"

She looked at him, appearing almost confused at his presence. Rossi was beside him now, and Hotch could hear his breath hitch.

"Hey princess, you want to tell me what's wrong?"

"It won't go away." Her voice was quiet and hoarse, like she'd been sitting there crying all night. Hotch was afraid she had been.

"What won't go away?"

She sniffled. "Headache, the headache won't go away."

Rossi crouched down on her other side then. "Emily, when did this headache start?"

She turned to him. "Uh, Friday."

"You've had this since Friday?" He asked, incredulous.

Prentiss nodded slowly, still seeming rather out of it.

"You haven't actually been sleeping, have you?" Morgan asked, eyes soft with worry.

"A little bit."

"A little bit doesn't cut it for four nights. You need a doctor," Morgan said.

She didn't react, not even to object, just turned back to the wall and stared.

"Hotch?" Reid's panicked voice grabbed their attention, and the genius appeared beside him. "What happened—Ohhh," he blurted and stared at Prentiss.

"Can you stand?" Rossi asked her.

"Sure," Prentiss said, and accepted the hand Morgan offered as she began pushing herself off the ground. Her face contorted in a grimace, and halfway up, she moaned and doubled over grabbing her head.

Three men shot worried looks at Hotch, all asking for guidance. He had none to give.

Morgan eased her up to standing, until she stumbled, and fell right into Rossi. He caught her, and supported her while she held her aching head with her cut hands.

"Hotch, I can take her to an ER, while the rest of you continue with the case," he offered.

He nodded. "Prentiss, Dave will take you to the hospital. You're on sick leave until further notice."

Again, she didn't react to his words, and at that moment, Hotch was pretty doubtful she even knew he was speaking. The ache in her head seemed to grow worse as she moved.

Rossi began to slowly walk her out of the bathroom toward the main room. Her go-bag was on the floor, and he nodded to Morgan. "Can you follow us, and throw that in the car?"

He nodded, his eyes still mostly on Prentiss, and grabbed up the bag. They all turned to the door then, and saw Seaver waiting, biting her lip, eyes widening at seeing Emily. Hotch marched over to her, and escorted her away with a hand on her arm, one ear tuned to the rest of his team, maneuvering Emily out of the room.

"Agent Seaver, I trust you can keep this confidential?" He didn't trust her, but he hoped she'd keep her mouth shut and give him reason to trust her.

"Uh yes, sir. Is-is she sick?" Her eyes kept shifting from his face to look behind him at the others.

"I'm not sure what's wrong, but I'm hoping you'll respect Agent Prentiss's privacy in this matter." Hotch knew Prentiss well enough to know that when she got back to herself, she'd be horrified that they saw her that way, that Seaver did would just make matters worse. And, the Bureau rumor mill circulating with theories of a breakdown or mental collapse or what not might torpedo her career.

"Of course, sir. Is there anything I can do?" The young woman straightened, and focused on him, no longer gawking.

"I'm down two profilers now. If you want a chance to prove yourself, now's the time," he said.

She nodded, and Morgan and Reid came marching back down the hall to them. It was Morgan who spoke. "Rossi just left, he said he'd call us when they knew something."

Hotch nodded, and then inhaled. "I know it's going to be difficult for us to keep our focus right now, but there is a killer out there targeting young men, and that is our priority."


	2. Chapter 2

Her head still felt like it was on the verge of exploding when the tech hit the button, and she began sliding into the MRI machine. They'd already taken blood, run a CT, and done both a standard exam, and had a neurologist come and conduct a neurological exam. The neurological exam and CT were clean, the standard exam revealed a fever and a fast pulse, and the blood was still being processed. Her hands were already cleaned and bandaged, fortunately without needing stitches. Rossi was still in the ER waiting room, after insisting he wasn't leaving until they knew what was wrong with her.

She hadn't mentioned the whispering she'd heard. The ER was bad enough, she wasn't going to say something that could get her transferred the psych wing.

Emily ran her thumb over the cylinder of the panic button, and tried to keep still as the machine started whirring. After a minute it grew louder and sharper, like a train running over tracks, and she squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip, hands tensing at her sides. If she moved, they wouldn't get a clear picture, and would have to do it all over again. But, god it made the pressure worse, and it was already unbearable.

After ten minutes, tears began streaming out of her eyes again. The machine shook her, and a higher pitched whine started, and she dropped the panic button and dug her fingers into her palms.

"Are you okay in there, Emily?" The MRI technician asked gently.

"Mmmhmm," she mumbled.

Another ten minutes and she was holding the panic button again, pushing the little button over and over again.

"What's wrong, Emily?" The tech's slightly altered voice asked.

"It hurts. The pressure in my head." Her voice cracked as she answered.

"Can you make it another few minutes?" He asked.

No, but she would. "Yes."

The few minutes were almost unbearably slow, but the machine did stop, and the tech came out of the control room. He hit the button again, and the bottom of the machine slid out. Carefully, he unhooked the plastic guard that fit over her neck and shoulders, and placed it off to the side. Emily immediately rolled onto her side, and grabbed her aching head.

"All done," he announced. He removed the blanket he'd put over her to keep her warm, the thin material of the hospital gown not enough in the cool room. He offered her a hand, and escorted her into the control room where the nurse was waiting to take her back to the ER exam room.

Rossi was actually there waiting when she got there, and he helped her crawl into the bed. "How're you doing, kid?"

Emily just shook her head against the pillow. They waited another hour before the doctor made it in, chart in her hands, looking very busy.

"Hello Emily, your blood work came back. Your blood sugar and electrolytes are low, when is the last time you ate or drank anything?"

She tried to remember, but could hardly think over her headache. "Probably lunch yesterday."

"You didn't eat much," Rossi reminded her.

The doctor looked between them and nodded. "Alright, your MRI was also clear, so this looks like a very severe migraine—"

"What?" Emily snapped, wincing against her own voice.

"Migraines can be severe enough to the point of being debilitating. I'm going to give you an injection of Imitrex, then you're going to eat something, and a nurse will start an IV to deal with the dehydration. Since you haven't slept in days, she'll also give you something to help you sleep," the doctor explained.

"The Imitrex, is that a pain killer?"

"It will help with the symptoms yes, but it will take 60 to 90 minutes to work," she said. She prepared and administered the injection in Emily's arm, a nurse coming in just as she finished.

The woman brought broth and toast, and at first Emily just stared at it. Her head hurt so damn much she had no appetite, but with Rossi watching her, she did as told.

"I'll check on you later, Emily," the doctor said, before disappearing to deal with her next patient. A second nurse came in while she was still eating, and started the IV in her left hand, leaving her, her right to finish eating.

Emily made it through most of the broth and a piece of toast before calling it quits. The nurse then gave her a couple of pills, and a little cup of water. The young woman watched her swallow them, before collecting the garbage, and disappearing back into the ER hallways.

"Go back to work, Rossi," she said.

"Hotch and the others can handle it."

"You don't need to watch me sleep, go and join them," she said. "Tell them I'm alright."

"Are you sure you don't want me to hang around?" Hesitation was clear in his voice, and not surprising.

"Yes." She brought the blanket over her head, blocking out everything, except a small hole for her to breathe through. She felt Rossi rest a hand over what was more wrist then hand, and give it a little squeeze. Her eyes were already drooping as his footsteps faded.

* * *

Hotch had left the team to finish up their paperwork. They'd gotten lucky, and a strong lead led them right to the killer earlier in the evening. It was just after eight, already dark, and the team was tired. He left Rossi to handle closing things with the locals, and collecting all their paperwork. Hotch could finish his on the plane, right now though, he was going to the hospital to check-on, and hopefully pick up, their missing member. He wouldn't lie and say finding her that way hadn't been very upsetting.

Garcia had called Morgan earlier in a panic, after one of her little computer gremlins did it's job and alerted her to Emily's hospital visit. Hotch would bet his pension that the tech had all their names plugged into her frighteningly good programs, ready to alert her if their names popped up anywhere. Morgan had, had a hell of a time calming her down, especially since they didn't really have any information to tell her. The other man had wisely left out the details of how they'd found her in her room.

A migraine, Rossi had said. A very, very bad migraine. Hotch had, had a few migraines, and never had one put him in a comparable state. Not even close.

"Excuse me, I'm here to see Emily Prentiss." Hotch held up his ID for the triage nurse, and waited while she pulled information up on her computer.

The woman studied the ID, glanced at the computer, and then nodded. "Let me page her doctor for you."

She made the call, while simultaneously tapping keys, and printing out a name badge, which she handed to him. He only had to wait about ten minutes for the doctor to appear.

"Agent Hotchner, you're here for Emily?"

He nodded, extending a hand. "Yes, how is she doing?"

"Much better actually. She slept most the day, and woke up about thirty minutes ago and said the pain was gone. Dr. Taylor, our neurologist is conducting another exam with her, if that's clear, she can leave," she explained.

"You sound surprised, doctor."

The doctor nodded slowly. "Her recovery was rather rapid for a migraine, especially one so severe."

"But, she's okay?" He asked.

"Seems to be."

"Doris," a voice called, a man in a white coat interrupting them.

"Dr. Taylor, Agent Hotchner is one of Emily's colleagues." She nodded toward Hotch.

Taylor offered a hand. "The exam was clear, just like the one earlier. I agree it's a little unusual, but there was no neurological cause behind it."

"Thanks. I'll take care of her discharge papers, can you show Agent Hotchner where she is?"

He nodded, and led Hotch through a surprisingly quiet ER, to a curtained off cubicle toward the back. The doctor left with a nod, and Hotch struggled to find something to knock on. Finally, he settled for calling her name. "Prentiss?"

"Hotch?" She sounded surprised. He gently pulled the curtain aside, and found her sitting on a bed, looking tired, but much better than she had this morning. "Hi."

She also looked nervous. He cleared his throat. "The doctor said you're feeling much better."

"Yes, I am. The pain is gone now."

"I'm glad to hear it," he said.

She inhaled deeply, tongue running over her bottom lip. "Uh, I'm sorry for yesterday and this morning. I really thought with a distraction, the headache would go away." She gave a bitter laugh through her nose. "I really didn't expect to completely lose my shit."

"You need to take care of yourself. If you haven't slept in days because the headache is that bad, you need to see a doctor, not go to work."

"I know. This won't happen again," she promised. Her eyes were intense, focused completely on him, and such a difference from what she was this morning.

He nodded. "We caught the killer earlier, so we'll be leaving in the morning. Take a couple more days when we get home, rest-up, work isn't going anywhere."

He expected her to argue, and she looked like she might, but Emily only glanced down at her hands and then back up at him. "Sure, that's probably a good idea."

"The team is getting together at the diner near the hotel for dinner soon, do you feel up to joining?"

Emily pressed her lips together. "Have to face everyone at some point, I suppose."

* * *

They ran into Reid outside the diner, and he actually stopped and hugged her. It was rare that they did more than give each other comforting hand squeezes, so that he did just reinforced how bad she'd been that morning. Though, he was the only one that felt the need to hug her. Rossi offered her a smile, and Morgan offered a meaningful look that told her he'd been just as worried as Reid. If she remembered correctly, he was the one that had found her, at least he's who she remembered first.

Seaver smiled, but maintained the same distance she had been. Probably better, Emily figured. She just hoped the cadet would keep all of this to herself. Sure, they'd have to report that she'd been sick and in the ER rather than on the case, but they didn't need to give Strauss all the details. The miserable bitch would just use it to give her a hard time.

It was fortunately a quick dinner, and even though she'd slept all day, she was exhausted by the end. Everyone else looked pretty beat too, but then it had been a long day for them too. They didn't exactly walk her to her door, but they were all next to or across from each other, so they didn't have to. She did feel a few pairs of eyes on her when she opened her door and walked inside though.

Someone had cleaned up the glass on the carpet and the blood on the bathroom tiles. She could still see some copper-colored stains on the wall though. It would probably have to be painted over. She was honest earlier with Hotch, she hadn't thought for a second when she got on the plane yesterday morning that she'd lose her shit so completely. Not like this.

When she'd woken up without the headache, she'd almost cried she was so happy. Being back in the hotel room, in bed in the dark, it reminded her of what she'd been avoiding thinking about all day. The whispers. But, that was just one of the symptoms, right? Migraines can create hallucinations, Reid had mentioned that at dinner. Of course, he knew every symptom of every illness that could possibly be diagnosed.

Emily let the thoughts disappear from her mind though, and huddled under the covers. She pictured constellations in her head, running through them like she was flying through the sky. It was a trick she'd learned as a child, when she had to try and sleep in a strange bed, in a strange house, in a strange country, with customs she didn't know, and not a friend in the world. The insecurity of those nights wasn't unlike what she was feeling now.

Her eyes began to grow heavy, and started to droop, her method working as well as ever. Then a sound jolted her, sending her eyes springing open, and her body tensing. No. No, no, no. Not happening.

But, it wouldn't stop happening just because she wanted it to. Just like last night, it started in quiet little spurts, then it got louder and more intense. A chorus of whispering around the bedroom. But this time she could make some of it out, or at least, she could make out enough to judge that it was Latin. Not specific words though.

Emily threw the covers off herself, found her go-bag, and fished around for the medicine bottles. Rather than try the light and deal with the creepy nervous feeling if it failed to work, she used her phone to examine the bottles. Emily shook a pill into her hand, and dry swallowed, wincing when the pill stuck briefly in her throat. Then she crawled back into bed, huddling under the covers.

The whispering turned into a rushing fury around the room—but then, it began to die down. Emily's eyes grew heavy again, and this time, nothing startled her awake.

* * *

_So, most of you probably got this, but no, it's not a migraine. There will some hinting at what she's suffering from in the next chapter, but that's all you get for now. :)_

_The editing on this was kind of rushed, but I'll be out of town for a week, starting tomorrow, so I needed to get it out. Sorry for any delay, I'm in the midst of a flare up of some old shoulder injuries, which may making updating sporadic in the near future. Time will tell. _

_Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed the first chapter, and will review the second, and thank you for reading!_


	3. Chapter 3

_It was so dark, the only light was from the moon reflecting above the small lake, bathing the nearby forest in a gentle blue hue. Emily could smell the nearby pine trees, and feel a breeze that seemed to glide over her bare skin. She was sitting in a rowboat, drifting across the water, wearing a butter yellow dress she'd have never bought. It wasn't that it was an ugly dress, it was kind of hippie-ish though, and butter yellow didn't really work with her coloring. It was sleeveless with cleavage designed by a prepubescent boy—the neck cut in a deep V, and an empire waist that was tight just underneath her breasts, pushing them up to her chin. Her feet were bare. _

_This was weird. _

_Then the breeze turned into a wind, a very fast, very cold wind. The icy gusts seemed to rip right through her,, and Emily tried to pull her body in on herself, huddling on the rowboat bench. But the wind continued to blow, pulling on her hair and ripping at her dress, blowing the skirt into her face. It was like the flimsy fabric was made to be ripped. The wind first shredded the skirt, then it began to tear the back that wasn't protected by her arms. Eventually, the dress gave in, and hung from the front, which she was protecting with her arms. _

_One strong gust knocked her back, and Emily had to move her arms to catch herself. The dress tore into pieces and flew off, leaving her naked and shivering. And, the wind died as suddenly as it started, as if taking her dress was its only mission. _

_There was a sudden roar as the entire lake seemed to catch on fire, brilliant orange flames rising up together before settling into a steady burn. The flames slapped at each other fighting for domination, and tendrils of smoke rose into the sky. And the heat that radiated around her settled into her body with slight sting as it drove out the cold. _

_As Emily was getting her bearings, pushing herself back to a sitting position on the bench in the boat, the heat began to get more intimate. It tickled along her skin like invisible fingers, inching up her arms and legs. Then it slid onto her back and around to her abdomen, and slowly those invisible fingers of heat were traveling along her breasts, groping at the flushed flesh. It continued up her legs, around her thighs, and up toward her core. _

_Her breath was heavy, her pulse racing, and her whole body flushed. Her back was arching as it entered her, not like a lover, not even like a violator. Like a possessor. She gasped, as the heat turned into fire. Webs of fire that cradled her, fire that choked her, fire that began to slowly consume her. _

"Prentiss? Prentiss!"

She started awake, gasping and fighting violently with the sheets.

"Prentiss!" It was Morgan's voice at the door.

Emily settled on the bed, and struggled to just take deep breaths in and out. After a minute she swallowed, and called, "Yeah?"

"Just checking on you, wheels up at eight, we're grabbing breakfast on the road," he said, and she could hear the relief in his voice.

"O-okay, I'll be ready." She glanced at the clock - 7:30 - and shook herself. Those were some pills the doctor gave her; she'd have to see if weird dreams were a side affect.

She brought a hand to her forehead, surprised at the heat under her palm. Great, so what, she had a cold in addition to the migraine? She shifted in bed, and winced as her top rubbed against her stomach. Emily pushed the blankets completely off and lifted up her shirt, surprised at what she saw. It looked almost like a patch of sunburn, red and raw on her lower belly. A sudden, brief flash of the dream hit her, the fire licking across her skin, burning that exact area.

Shaking her head, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling the dream left her with, Emily quickly pulled her shirt back down. She must have hurt herself yesterday. That was the only explanation. Forcing herself to breathe slowly and deeply, making herself relax, Emily stared at room. She quickly realized that she didn't really need to pack. She hadn't actually _unpacked._

At least there was that.

* * *

Rossi was sitting across from Morgan, who was glancing over at Emily every five minutes. Reid was in the back, trying to teach Seaver chess, and by the sounds of it not really succeeding, and Hotch was behind them, working on paperwork as usual. Emily was across the aisle from them, looking worse than last night, but better than yesterday morning. She was flushed, like her fever came back, and she kept drifting off and popping awake, like she didn't want to sleep.

Morgan glanced at her again, and quickly turned back to his Ipod.

"You know, she's not going to disappear, Morgan," he said.

The other man looked up, eyebrows raised in surprise, and turned off his music, removing his headphones. "What's that?"

"I said, she's not going to disappear."

"Who's not going to disappear?" He asked.

Rossi gave him a dubious look. "You're not pretty enough to play dumb."

Morgan snorted. "You're breakin' my heart, Rossi."

He smiled. "Sorry to bruise your ego…Now, you want to tell me why you keeping glancing over at Emily like you're afraid she's going to disappear?"

He sighed and raised his arms above his head, running his hands over his bald head. "I don't know, man. You saw her the yesterday morning, she could have been sitting that way all night, and none of us knew. I don't want to wait until it gets to that point before making her get help."

"You don't trust her to say if she needs help?"

It was Morgan now who offered a dubious look. "This is the same woman that was in a horrific car accident last year, got a concussion, and then insisted she was fine and didn't need to be in the hospital. And, I think last night speaks for itself."

Rossi nodded, and sighed. "Yeah, I know." He'd been hoping for another answer though.

Morgan glanced over at Emily again, and shook his head. "I've known Prentiss a while now, she has never had a migraine in that time. And, I sure as hell have never seen her like she was yesterday morning."

He sighed. "If you're worried, go home with her tonight. It might be best if she isn't alone anyway."

"Yeah, she'll be real receptive to that," the younger man said, rolling his eyes.

* * *

"I do not need a babysitter, Morgan." Her arms were crossed over her chest, refusing to budge.

He had her bag, having taken Rossi's advice and decided to go home with her. As he'd predicted she was less than receptive to the idea. In fact, she was flat out annoyed, which he also expected. "I know you don't, this is more for me than you, princess."

Her eyebrows rose. "How's that?"

"This way, I won't spend all night worrying about you," he said. They were in the airport parking lot, half the team hanging around by their cars, pretending to be busy while they listened. Hotch had actually been relieved when Morgan had told him that he'd go home with Prentiss and keep an eye on her.

"So go find yourself some company for the night, you'll be too distracted to worry," she insisted.

"Trust me, I won't. And I don't much feel like that kind of company."

She sighed in aggravation. "I'm fine, Morgan. I know I totally lost it the other day, but I swear I'm fine now."

He moved closer to her, and spoke so only she could hear. "I don't want to find you the same way we found you the other day. I want to be able to get you help before that point, if you need it. Okay? If you're fine tomorrow, I'll go home, and leave you alone. Alright?"

She stared at him, face neutral, and finally nodded. "Fine. But, I can carry my own bag."

Morgan nodded, and handed Emily her go-bag. They took their separate cars, and she immediately headed upstairs for a shower and a nap. Contrary to her reassurances, she still wasn't feeling well. Morgan parked himself on her sofa, grabbed the remote, and began switching between channels. It was still pretty early, but Hotch had sent them all home. That they have their paperwork done was his only requirement before they could play hooky. It wasn't a bad case by their standards, but everything with Prentiss had taken a lot out of all of them. Which may have been why he only saw ten minutes of Jurassic Park before passing out into oblivion.

The dream he was woken out of sometime later wasn't a pleasant one, so he wasn't exactly disappointed when the light hit his eyes. He blinked as he returned to consciousness, and twisted himself back to a sitting position. Running his hands over his face, he finally looked up at the room, wondering what had woken him.

"Oh...oh my...uh..." He stuttered, too stunned to find the words for an actual sentence.

Prentiss was standing five feet from him in her birthday suit, all soft, ivory skin and damp, dark hair. She was dead silent, and unnervingly still, just staring at him.

"Uh, Prentiss?" He managed to tear his gaze away and find his tongue. "Are you okay?"

Instead of speaking, she began to walk slowly toward him, hips shifting with each step. Even concerned as he was, Morgan couldn't stop half his blood from rushing south. Jesus, what the hell was she doing?

She stopped when she was inches from him, and leaned over, her breasts hanging in his face. Her lips close to his ear, warm breath tickling his neck, she whispered, "You can have me. Don't be shy."

He was stock still as she took one of his hands and moved it to her breast, squeezing his hand, tight enough that it should be uncomfortable for her. He managed to snap out of his daze when her other hand snaked back toward him, heading toward his erection. He snatched her hand as her fingers just barely grazed his pants.

She met his eyes. "You can have me," she repeated. "Touch me."

Morgan was staring at her, searching for some hint of familiarity, but it just wasn't there. This wasn't the woman he knew, something was very wrong with her. "Tempting as that offer is, and believe me it is, I can't do that."

She stood there, buck naked and stared at him. What little life was in her eyes and face disappeared, and she released his hand. Morgan started to release a breath, only to have it knocked out of him when she launched herself at him.

Hands aiming for his throat, Emily dove at him, fighting against his hands as he tried to hold her back. They fell off the sofa, and rolled to the ground, still fighting and struggling. She was surprisingly strong, but he managed to get the upper hand. Morgan got her on her back, and used his whole body to pin her to the floor. Any less force, and she'd have thrown him off.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" He asked, breathing heavily, one hand holding her arms above her head, and with the other, his forearm pressed into her upper chest.

Prentiss opened her mouth and a hitch-pitched animalistic roar came out. Loud enough for him to clap his hands over his ears. "Jesus christ, what the fuck was that?"

With his hands occupied, she shoved him off herself, and quickly scrambled to her feet. Breath coming in shallow fast gasps, she stared at him. Then she positioned her hands on her upper chest, a few inches above each breast, dug her nails in and racked her fingers down her body, leaving angry red welts in her wake.

Morgan tackled her, pushing her against the floor, as he grabbed her hands. She struggled beneath him, screaming like a deranged lunatic. Then suddenly she stopped, and looked at him.

"I'll have her," Emily spoke with a voice that wasn't hers. It was deeper and damaged, hideous. She leaned close, whispered in his ear, "You can't stop me." Then she moved quick as a snake, and bit down on the area between his neck and collarbone.

Morgan hollered, and tried to pry her off, finally resorting to body-slamming her into the floor, not once, not twice, but three times. She released him, and cried out as she landed-a very human cry. He rolled away from her, and flopped on his back, struggling to breath, gingerly touching the bloody wound on his throat.

Familiar brown eyes stared at him filled with confusion and terror.

* * *

_I'm sure some of you are thinking "what the fuck?" right now. Answers will come in the next chapter, I promise._

_Thank you all for reading, and especially for reviewing!_


	4. Chapter 4

_WARNING: This chapter is s a bit gross in the beginning. Further A/Ns at the end.  
_

* * *

_Emily was confused. She was sitting on a sofa in an unfamiliar house; she'd woken up only moments ago, peeling her body off the unfamiliar couch. She was certain she'd never been to this house before, not even as one of her parent's rental homes over the years. It was a cozy house though, with a contemporary fireplace and comfortable furniture. It even smelled cozy, like homemade food. Onions and garlic and mushrooms. It smelled delicious. _

_She stood up and decided to follow the scent. Someone must be cooking, and that someone should be able to tell her why she was at their house. She walked into a short hallway and followed the smell to the kitchen. The floor was black and white checked tile, a very vintage look for an otherwise modern house. But Emily quickly forgot about the tile when her eyes landed on the familiar figure standing at the counter, beside the stove – which held a large, bubbling pot – chopping something on a board. _

"_Morgan?"_

_He turned. "Hey, you hungry? I'm making stew."_

"_Sure, it smells great." He smiled and went back to chopping. "Uh Morgan, where are we?"_

_He didn't respond, just happily continued chopping. _

_Frustrated, Emily walked over to him, over to the side away from the bubbling pot. As she walked around him, her eyes landed on the cutting board, and she thought she might vomit. Then she flew into action._

"_Morgan, stop! Stop!" She yelled, trying to pull his right hand with the knife away from his left hand. _

_The cutting board was soaked red with blood. Small, thick-sliced rounds of mocha-colored flesh lay on one side, and larger, thinner sliced pieces lay on the other. Morgan looked at her in utter confusion, the bloody stump of his left arm in the air. _

_Emily stared at the thicker slices – pieces of finger – and realized that only the ends were there. The majority of his fingers had presumably already been added to the strew. Emily grabbed a dish towel and wrapped it around his stump, the white of the towel quickly soaking with blood. _

"_What the hell were you doing! You just chopped off your hand!"_

_Morgan dropped the knife onto the cutting board then, and grabbed up her wrist in his good hand. His grip was tight and unforgiving, and his eyes were suddenly dark. No, not dark. Black. _

_Pure coal black. He looked into her eyes, deep and penetrating, and yet cold and dead. His mouth fell open and black smoke poured out, twisting through the air, and heading straight for her. Before she could even think, the smoke pushed it's way between her lips, and into her mouth. It hit the back of her throat like a solid object, and her gag reflect kicked in, but not before the smoke made a sharp turn and shot down her throat._

_She couldn't breathe. Her gag reflex fought with the intruder in her throat, and Emily's eyes grew wide as she gagged. _

_Morgan grabbed her around the throat with his suddenly regenerated left hand, and slid the knife into her mouth, already pried open by the smoke. With the sharp chef's blade, he cut out her tongue. _

_Emily still struggled for breath, and now she gagged on the blood puddling in her mouth and sliding down her throat. But she remained alive enough to watch him carefully chop up her tongue and add it to the stew with great ceremony. _

_Then he brought the knife up to her eyes. _

Emily was suddenly jolted away from Morgan's black eyes and the glint of his knife, and found herself on the floor of her own living room. She could still taste the coppery sweetness of blood in her mouth, and lifted a hand to wipe her lips. It came away pink, but Emily could feel her tongue intact. The blood wasn't hers. She was suddenly aware of the heaving gasps of another person in the room, and looked for the source.

Morgan was across from her, eyes wide and filled with fear and worry, and one hand clasped against his neck. Red already stained his shirt and seeped beneath his fingers. Realization hit her like a freight train, and a broken sob escaped past her lips.

"Oh…oh my god." Her stomach turned and Emily scrambled to her feet and dashed up the stairs. She made it to the bathroom and emptied her stomach in the toilet, aware somewhere in the back of her mind that she was naked.

Shaking, tears falling down her face from the heaving, Emily pushed herself to her feet, and washed up at the sink. She heard Morgan's steps as he ascended the stairs and moved faster. "Prentiss?" He called. "Emily?"

She dashed into her bedroom and slammed and locked the door. She had bitten a chunk out of Morgan's neck. She could have killed him if she'd gotten a vein or artery.

That knowledge mated with her bizarre horror movie dream or vision or whatever, and birthed a pulsing ball of fear in her stomach. She ignored his pounding on the door, and his panicked voice calling.

Oh god, what had she done? What the hell was happening to her?

* * *

"So, you're thinking what, Spencer? Schizophrenia? DID? Bipolar Disorder, something like that?" Ted asked him.

Ted was Dr. Theodore Raddic, a classmate of his from when he earned his BA in psychology. Ted had gone on to get a PhD in psychology, and started a practice with a couple of grad school buddies. They kept in touch, and Reid had called him shortly after a freaked-out and panicked Morgan called him.

They were all at Emily's house, sitting in her living room while she quarantined herself in her bedroom, even more freaked than Morgan had been. She wouldn't let anyone near her, and had no recollection of anything that happened with Morgan. Garcia had invaded the profiler's medicine cabinet and bandaged up Morgan's neck. Emily wouldn't let anyone close enough to tend to the wounds Morgan insisted she had given herself.

"Something like that. You're training is far more extensive than mine, that's why I called you. I could try to diagnose her on my own, but I wouldn't trust it," Reid explained.

He sighed. "With only one session? I can try, but I'm not going to promise anything." Then he looked around. "Who was with her during this episode?"

"I was," Morgan said. Garcia was still practically hanging off him.

"Can you describe it?"

"Describe it? Sure. I woke up with her standing nearby, naked as the day she was born. She tried to seduce me, kept saying I could have her if I wanted. It was weird, beyond being out of character, it was like...she wasn't there. Then I turned her down, and she attacked me, got loose, cut herself up with her nails, and tried to eat my throat. Just before that she said something though...uh, something like 'I'll have her' and 'you can't stop me'...so what does that all add up to?"

Ted looked puzzled, and Reid knew exactly why, it didn't match any diagnosable mental illness. He sighed. "Does she have any history of mental illness in the family?"

The team exchanged looks, and half of the shook their heads. "Not that we're aware of," Reid supplied.

"Okay, what about her history? Depression, anxiety, anything like that?"

"No," Hotch said. "At least, nothing pronounced enough for anyone to notice at the Bureau."

Ted nodded. "Uh, do any of you happen to know if she suffered any abuse as a child?"

"What do you mean?" Garcia asked, squeezing Morgan's arm.

"You're thinking DID?" Reid asked.

"Yeah, it sounds like she was referring to herself in third person. Typically, Dissociative Identity Disorder develops during severe physical and sexual abuse. If your friend, Emily, wasn't abused, it's unlikely to be DID. I'm just trying to determine what it definitely isn't. So...was she abused?"

For the third time they all looked at each other. "Not that we're aware of," Hotch supplied.

"Does she seem to forget things? Events?" He continued.

"No," Reid answered. "No depersonalization or derealization either." Thanks to his eidetic memory, he had the criteria for every mental illness in the DSM-IV in his head.

Ted nodded. "Spencer, you know what schizophrenia looks like, have you noticed anything with her at all in the time you've known her?"

He shook his head slowly. "If I had I'd have said something to her."

His friend sighed. "Alright, you all aren't going to like this, and I will go talk to her, but this doesn't sound like mental illness. With the exception of DID, there is no illness that a person can come in and out of that quick, at least not without the use of antipsychotics, and even then... And, she'd have other symptoms if it was DID."

Reid wasn't surprised, he made the same assessment based on what they'd seen the last couple days, and what Morgan had said.

"Then what's wrong with her?" Morgan asked, a hint of desperation leaking into his voice.

Ted glanced at Reid. "This is what you won't like, and I'm not totally convinced about this, because even this doesn't fit that well, but it sounds more like drug abuse."

Reid didn't need to turn to see the looks of disbelief, he could tell from the shift of the air in the room. It was suddenly defensive.

"Not to question your skill, doctor, but I think that's highly unlikely," Rossi said. "She had a friend addicted to drugs, she wouldn't touch them."

He shrugged. "I'll talk to her, but you might need to resign yourself to taking her to a hospital. If it's not psychological and it's not drugs, then it's medical."

With that, he turned and headed up the stairs toward Emily's bedroom. They were hesitant to take her in for help, because if she went into with psychological symptoms, her career was gone. The Bureau would put her on disability and that would be that. None of them were ready to lose another team member. Unfortunately, it was looking like that was the way things were going.

It wasn't long before Ted reappeared at the stairs. "Uh, one of you better come here...now."

Instead of one, he got all five of them. They followed him into the bedroom to find Emily on the floor, writhing and babbling in what didn't sound like a single language he knew. She sounded weak, and the flush on her cheeks suggested her fever had only gotten higher.

"Is that Latin?" Hotch asked.

"No, that is definitely not Latin," Rossi said, eyes focused on Emily.

"So what?" Morgan asked. "Nonsense?"

Reid was about to agree when she said a word he did recognize, and he listened harder. He didn't know the words, but the arrangement of the sounds was familiar. Not something he'd ever heard, something he'd read about. He ran through his extensive memory, mentally scanning everything he'd ever read, before he landed on the right text. He scanned the pages in his head, and his eyes began to widen. That couldn't be right? Could it?

"Reid?" Hotch was staring at him. "Do you know what she's saying?"

He shook his head quickly. "No, and I doubt more than a handful of people in the world could tell you, but...I think it's Sumerian."

"You can recognize Sumerian, kid?" Morgan was dubious.

"It has a unique phonology, especially the arrangement of the consonants, though it's similar to Akkadian, another ancient language. I read an article not long ago, the University of Pennsylvania's Archeological department is trying to develop a Sumerian dictionary. There were a few examples of the words in the article. She said one I recognized, kind of," he explained.

"Okay, but how would Emily learn to speak Sumerian?" Garcia asked.

"She wouldn't. It's not something that people speak, since we don't really know how it would correctly sound."

"But you just said...?" She held up an empty hand.

"I think I picked up that one word from a guess they had in the article, and by the arrangement of the sounds, I think it could be, but it's impossible to say definitively," he said.

She nodded. "So what's all this mean? What's wrong with her?"

Suddenly Emily stopped writhing and pushed herself up to look at the group of them. Breathing heavy, face contorted in rage, she spoke in a deep, gravely voice that would have been unrecognizable if Reid hadn't seen it come out of her mouth. "Ruina cometes; quod populus mos peto pacis, quod illic mos exsisto nullus."

"_That's_ Latin," Rossi replied, staring at her wide-eyed.

Hotch glanced at him, then back at Emily. "What does it mean?"

"'Destruction comes; and they will seek peace, and there will be none.' I think it's a bible verse," he said.

"Ezekiel, chapter 7, verse 25," Reid supplied automatically. He'd read the bible once, and appreciated it as a literary work, but gave little thought to it as truth. But, that was him.

"Thanks," Rossi said. He walked toward Emily then, crouching down beside her. Her body was tense, her breathing rapid, but she focused on him and only him. He raised a hand and gently touched her forehead; she didn't move. Quickly, he drew two crossing lines on her forehead, seconds before she gave a bestial scream, and attacked him.

Morgan jumped into action, Hotch beside him, them pulling her off him as she tried...well, it looked like she was trying to tear his face off. Morgan managed to get her belly-down on the floor, using his whole body to hold her while Hotch yanked Rossi out of the way. Emily was snarling and screeching, face contorted in unbridled rage.

"I've got to make a phone call," Rossi said, breathing heavily, staring at Emily.

* * *

"David," the priest greeted, embracing him. He was looking even older than Rossi remembered.

"Jimmy, good to see you. This is my team, I'll spare you all their names," he said, then turned to the team. "Father Jimmy Davison," he introduced.

"Pleasure," Jimmy answered.

"Emily's upstairs," Rossi said, gesturing him to follow with a hand. Jimmy grabbed him, and stopped him.

He inhaled and studied Rossi. "David, do you really believe she could be...?"

Rossi took his old friend's hand. "I believe she's not herself, and Jimmy, I'm worried at what she could be."

The old priest nodded, and Rossi lead him up the stairs. Morgan followed behind them, playing bodyguard in case she tried to kill someone again. That left Hotch pacing, entirely at a loss, and Reid trying to comfort Garcia, who was scared to death.

Rossi gently pushed open the door, and was surprised to find Emily exactly where'd they'd left her. She looked very peaceful, asleep on her bed, curled on her side, facing them, her dark red, satin robe inching up, revealing legs that while shapely, didn't see nearly enough sun. Much as she had after attacking Morgan, Emily had seemed to come back to herself after attacking Rossi. At least, after a little screaming and cursing while Morgan held her down. He saw her appear in her eyes only seconds before she simply passed out. Morgan had checked for a pulse, and then lifted her onto the bed.

"I'm not sure what you can determine while she's asleep, but I'm a little hesitant to wake her," Rossi said.

Jimmy nodded. "You said she attacked you after you made the sign of the cross on her forehead?"

"Yes, that's right."

The priest nodded, and pulled a rosary from his pocket, a silver crucifix hanging off purple and white beads. Jimmy approached the bed slowly, and gently lifted Emily's left arm. She stirred slightly, but didn't move. He moved her hand toward himself, and held it open, laying the crucifix on her palm, and closing his hands around it.

She didn't attack him. But, she did wake up. Sleepy and confused, and understandably startled by the strange man in her bedroom. "What...Father Davison?"

She glanced around, saw Morgan and himself, and inched away like she was afraid. She was afraid, he could see it in her eyes. But she wasn't afraid of them, she was afraid _for_ them.

"It's alright Emily, Jimmy is here as my friend. He wants to help you." Jimmy was still holding her hand, studying her, looking very much the part with his open, understanding expression.

And, then Emily was gone. He saw her eyes grow cold and dead seconds before Jimmy cried out. She had his wrist twisted at a sickly angle, but she wasn't even looking at the priest. Then suddenly she let him go, a smile vacant of any real joy appeared on her face, and she held up her left hand, opened it, and let the crucifix drop to the floor. Or at least, what was left. It was blackened and crumbling, and her hand was actually smoking.

It, and Rossi was getting more and more comfortable thinking of it as it, spoke in the raspy, destroyed voice that was not Emily's. "You think you can save her with an old priest and a piece of jewelry? She was mine long before you ever heard her name, Agent Rossi, and I will not be denied. I have waited far too long."

Jimmy pulled himself off the floor, his injured wrist cradled against his chest, and got to his knees. "In the name of Lord and his only son Jesus Christ who died for our sins, I ask you to protect this woman, and give her the strength to see through this battle for her eternal soul," he began, and launched into a prayer.

A book flew from across the room smack into Jimmy's slightly bowed form, and the distorted voice began to laugh. The lights flickered in the bedroom and went out, and various knick-knacks began to fly. Then the laughter suddenly died, and she turned to Jimmy.

"You are not strong enough, Father...and neither is the god you call to for help."

* * *

_A/N: So, now you know what's wrong with her. I blame this idea entirely on Jimmy's comments in Demonology. This is not how I've seen possession start in films, but I decided to have some fun and do it a little different. I love horror movies, it's actually my favorite genre, so you can expect more horror movie-esque flair as you read this._

_Other things, the first scene is inspired by the serial killer Albert Fish, who may a soup out of one of his young victims. Do not try to remember Ted's name, this is his only appearance and more names popping up (mostly priests), which you'll need to remember. _

_Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing!_


	5. Chapter 5

_I'm sorry it's taken me a while to update, but updates may be sporadic for while. I sprained my foot a couple of weeks ago, and dealing with that has been more difficult than I anticipated. I haven't been sleeping well due to pain, so I don't have much energy to devote to fanfic. Sorry, guys._

* * *

"I don't, I don't quite believe it." Jimmy was sitting on the sofa, glancing at Rossi.

Garcia slid a glass of water into the priest's trembling hand, struggling to keep her own hands steady. This couldn't be happening. Yet, she'd heard it with her own ears, seen it with her own eyes.

"But, it's the real thing, isn't it?" Rossi asked.

Jimmy sipped the water and nodded. "Yes…yes, I believe it is."

"So then what the hell do we do?" Morgan demanded. She rested a hand on his shoulder, hoping to calm him slightly.

"What did it mean?" Hotch asked. Garcia turned toward him in question and felt the others do the same. Hotch cleared his throat. "It said that it knew her longer than us, that it had been waiting to do this for a while. What did it mean?"

Jimmy sighed. "I can't say for certain, but I'd say this particular demon has been watching Emily for a long time, waiting for his chance to possess her."

"What did it have to wait for?" Garcia scoffed, pressing her body into Morgan's, seeking the comfort he brought.

"There are times in our lives when we're more vulnerable to these sorts of things, perhaps your friend has only recent reached the stage of vulnerability the demon needed to take her."

"You told me once that our jobs make us vulnerable," Rossi said.

Jimmy nodded. "Yes. You all deal with horror and depravity…evil. When you're that close, evil has an easier time taking you."

"But it said that it knew her longer, and if the BAU made Emily vulnerable, it would have possessed her before now," Reid argued.

"This is true. Something else made her vulnerable, and something else brought her to this creature's attention. The latter you may never know, the former you may not have noticed."

"So, what do we do?" Morgan repeated.

"Pray for her." The priest then set the water glass down. "I need to contact the Archdiocese of Washington. They'll send an investigator to confirm authenticity, before they send an exorcist."

"An exorcist," Hotch repeated.

Jimmy looked at him. "Unless you know a better way to send a demon back to Hell?"

When Hotch didn't respond, Garcia spoke. "Will she…will she be okay? I mean after, after the…thing. Will we get her back?"

She couldn't say exorcism. She couldn't say demon. Garcia wasn't even certain she could make Emily's name come out of her mouth right then.

Jimmy sighed. "If she survives the exorcism, then physically, I imagine she'll recover completely. Mentally, it's very difficult to say."

"If?" Morgan asked. "What do you mean if?"

"I believe we had this conversation two years ago. An exorcism is a prize fight, and it's just as, if not more draining and stressful on the affected person as it is on the exorcist. If the church agrees to send an exorcist, they'll send medical personnel as well." He got up from the seat then. "You should all know, this will get much worse before it gets better. It will say and do awful things, and Emily will suffer greatly. You should keep her restrained if you can, and don't listen to what it says, even if it speaks in her voice. It will try to trick you, use your love for her against you."

Rossi walked over to him then, and took one of his friend's hands in both of his. "Thank you, Jimmy. Please hurry."

"I'll do my best, David." Rossi showed the priest out of Emily's house, and Garcia looked uneasily among the guys.

"Reid, give me your tie." Hotch was already pulling his own off, as he instructed the younger man. Reid complied without question.

"What are you doing, Hotch?" Morgan asked.

"Getting restraints ready."

"You're going to tie her up?" Garcia asked, stomach churning and aching.

Hotch froze and spoke without looking at them. "To the bed. I'm going to tie her to the bed." He looked at Garcia then. "Do you know where she keeps her scarves?"

She gestured in the direction Rossi had gone. "Hall closet, with coats and things. Don't you all have handcuffs, though?"

Reid headed to the closet, while Hotch answered her. "She may be restrained for a while, and I don't want to hurt her."

Garcia pressed her lips together, and felt her control slipping as tears pricked her eyes. When she couldn't take it anymore, she practically yelled. "How is this real?"

Morgan pulled her close then and she clung to him, her strong, beautiful hero, but this time she questioned that. She wondered if this was something he could defeat, something _anyone_ could defeat.

"Morgan." He pulled away at Hotch's voice. The Unit Chief gestured up the stairs. "I need your help."

* * *

JJ could feel the dread in her gut even as Garcia opened the door to Emily's home, and then instantly pulled her into a hug. "Oh Jayje, thank god," she said.

"Garcia, what's going on? All Reid told me on the phone was that there was an emergency with Emily. What happened to her, and why isn't she at a hospital?"

"This isn't something a hospital can help with, JJ."

"Is she okay?" JJ followed her to Emily's living room, to find the guys sitting on the sofa and chairs. Rossi and Morgan both had head their heads bowed as if they were praying.

"No, she isn't," Hotch said. "Good to see you, JJ."

"Yeah, you too. What happened to Emily? Where is she?"

"In her bedroom."

"Well, is she hurt? What's going on?" She was running out of patience very quickly.

"We believe that she's possessed by a demon."

She turned to Rossi, eyes wide, trying to assess if he was being serious. He certainly looked it. "You what? What the hell do you mean, possessed by a demon?"

He didn't answer her questions, but said, "I have a friend in the church, he's arranging for an investigator to come confirm, so the they'll send an exorcist."

JJ surveyed the group, certain they'd all lost their minds. "I don't know what the hell is going on with you guys, but I'm going to see her."

"Don't untie her."

She froze mid-step at Hotch's words, and turned back. "You tied her up? Jesus, what the hell is wrong with all of you?"

Rather than wait for an answer, she trudged up the stairs, determined to find out what was going on, and get Emily out of the house and away from their friends who had apparently fallen victim to some sort of group psychosis.

When JJ pushed open the door to the master bedroom, she found Emily on the bed. Ties, probably belonging to Hotch and Reid, bound her wrists to the bed posts, and scarves bound her ankles. She appeared to be in nothing but a bathrobe, the satin pulled over her body to cover her up, even as she was tied spread-eagle to the bed.

"Emily?" Even though barely above a whisper, her voice sounded like a cannon in the quiet room.

The profiler's head slowly turned. Exhaustion was written into her face, and fear swam in her wet eyes. "JJ?"

"Yeah, I'm right here." She hurried over to her friend. "God, Emily, what the did they do to you? Why did they do this?"

"I don't know. I don't know." She shook her head back and forth, emotion heavy in her voice. "They've gone nuts, JJ."

"Yeah, I gathered that much." It didn't make sense. The team wouldn't do this to Emily, or _anyone_ for that matter. But they had and JJ couldn't ignore that. Quickly, she began to loosen the tie around Emily's right wrist, and then moved to the left wrist. "It's going to be okay, Em. I'm going to get you out of here."

When her left wrist was free, Emily immediately leaned up, and grabbed JJ in a frightened embrace. JJ held her friend, and gently stroked her hair. Never had she seen Emily afraid or even vulnerable, but never had the people she loved and trusted most kept her prisoner in her own home.

After a minute, Emily began to pull away and then sat looking at her. JJ tried to exude comfort and confidence, but she was more than a bit weary at the thought of the resistance they might encounter downstairs.

Emily suddenly leaned forward, and pressed her mouth to JJ's. Her rough, chapped lips slid along JJ's, and her tongue slid soft and wet into her mouth. It took JJ several seconds to wrap her mind around what was happening, and then she abruptly pulled away.

"Emily, what…?"

"Shhh," Emily whispered, resting a finger against JJ's lips. She trailed the finger over them, and then went to kiss her again, but JJ jumped back.

Something cold and dark slid into Emily's brown eyes then, and the corners of her mouth turned up in a smile. But it wasn't Emily's smile.

Fear slid up JJ's spine as realization dawned on her. The team hadn't gone crazy.

It wasn't Emily.

"I know you liked it, a little bit." It was Emily's voice, but it lacked all the warmth of her friend's voice.

"Never said you were a bad kisser, Em," she played along.

"But good girls don't kiss other girls." She smiled and it was cruel, vindictive. "Like Amanda."

JJ stiffened. She'd never told Emily about her sister, at least not that.

Emily chuckled, and inhaled. "Yeah, big sissy killed herself cause she liked pussy. Mommy told her she was a sinner. Daddy told her she was a whore, an abomination, a freak. And little Jenny sat on the top of the stairs, in her pink nightgown, listening to every word, listening to her big sister cry."

"Shut up," JJ said.

"You know where she is now, right?"

"I said, _shut up_."

Emily glanced down and said in a sing-song voice. "Far below, burning, burning, burning."

"Stop it."

"Every day, she starts as the pretty girl she was when she died. Every day ends with her burnt down to bone, feeling every bit of pain. And then the next day we do it again."

"Stop it! Stop it!" She yelled, tears pricking her eyes.

"You know when she first came, we made sure she knew what it was like to be with a man. We made sure until she said she liked it, over and over and over—"

"Stop it! Please, stop it!" She was sobbing now, and forced herself away from the thing that had taken her friend, and slammed the door behind her.

She ran forward, but stopped just short of running into Rossi. Tears running out of both eyes, she looked at him. "_That_ isn't Emily."

Rossi just pulled her close, and held her while she cried.

* * *

_Emily was in a shower stall._

_Ice cold water was beating down on her, biting her skin like pin pricks. She went to move and her feet splashed in the water collected at the bottom of the shower stall. It was getting deeper._

_It felt like only minutes ago that she'd been in her home, curled up into a terrified ball, still with the taste of blood in her mouth. Now she was in someone else's shower._

_Shaking violently from the chill of the water, Emily searched around for the exit, a handle to push open, anything really. There was nothing. There was no way in or out, it was as if the shower stall had been built around her. The water was up to her ankles now._

_Emily pounded on the glass walls of the stall, and yelled for help. It didn't matter that she was naked, only that someone come to get her out. But the glass didn't break; it didn't even crack. She sighed, and struggled to catch her breath. Her fingers slid along the wet glass, as she leaned against it. That's when she heard it. The whispering._

_Like she had in the hotel room, she heard whispering._

_"Hello?" She called. "Is someone there?"_

_There was no response. "I am a federal agent! If you do this, you'll be in a world of trouble!"_

_The water was sloshing around her calves now, and her skin hand taken on a blue tinge. "Damn it, let me out of this thing!"_

_The whispers grew louder. She should have been able to understand them at this volume, but somehow they were still an indistinguishable mass. It sounded like there was fifty people surrounding her and speaking at each other._

_She began to pound and kick at the glass again, the latter just making a mess with water splashing all over. The voices continued to grow louder. She sighed in frustration, and then launched back into attacking the glass with her closed fists. Emily was slamming her fists into the glass so hard it would leave bruises, but still it wouldn't give._

_The voices were practically shouting now, and Emily brought her hands up to her ears just to stop the incessant noise._

_The water was suddenly warm. It was also red._

_Warm blood poured down over her head, got into her eyes and mouth, and bathed her in a slick, glistening red. The copper scent surrounded her, the salty-sweet of it overwhelming to her senses. Hands trembling for a whole new reason, Emily tried not to vomit._

_The shower pressure was turned up somehow, and the stall began to fill even faster, now with blood. It covered her thighs, then her waist, and she tried not to panic. The voices were still growing louder, but continued to be indistinguishable. Emily grabbed at the shower head, tried to find some way to turn the shower off, but there was none._

_The blood reached her breasts, and the voices were loud enough to shake the glass walls of the shower stall. She began to feel panicky. There was less than a foot of stall above her head, and it would fill up fast._

_She reached her arms up and continued to pound on the glass to little success. The blood hit her throat and then chin, and she had to get on the tips of her toes. It slid over her mouth and nose, and she began to struggle, choking and gasping, trying to keep above the rising blood. Emily kicked her feet, and pushed her body up further, grabbing onto the shower head._

_The blood continued to rise, and she began to grow tired._

_As the blood flowed over her head, Emily finally made out a voice from the cacophony outside the shower stall._

_It was JJ. She was yelling at someone to stop._

* * *

_So this one was a little more tame than the last chapter, but the next one will more intense like the last one. I think my favorite part of this chapter to write was actually JJ's, because how it sort of pitted her against the team, which was a different thing to write for me._

_Thank you everyone for reading and not giving up on this story through my little delay!_


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: This chapter is pretty intense, and the second scene is a little gross. You have been warned._

* * *

"She looks all flushed, and she feels warm," Morgan said.

Reid nodded, and rested a hand against Emily's forehead. She was warm, probably feverish, and sweaty. She'd thrashed around in the bed as much as the restraints allowed her, and her robe had come open. Reid reached down, and carefully set it right.

"Can you check to see if she has an ear thermometer? And get Garcia to dig up a wash cloth and some ice water?" Morgan nodded, and left the room to do as asked.

Reid released a breath, and really studied his friend. She was pale, and there were already bruises formed on her arms and legs. Black and blue finger marks on her upper arms showed where Morgan had held her to restrain her.

She moaned.

"Emily?" Reid said.

Suddenly a hand closed around his penis, bunching the fabric of his pants. His blood began to rush south, completely out of his control, and he looked up to see the tie that had been fastened around her right hand hanging loosely. Reid went to swat her hand away, but her grip tightened, almost painfully. He felt eyes on him, and looked back down to see Emily's eyes open, her gaze burning into his eyes.

It wasn't Emily though. Her eyes were lifeless, except for the anger swirling madly inside them. It made no sense, but he didn't have time to think about that now. Reid pushed at her arm, tried to pry her fingers away from his groin, but she had an iron grip.

She tightened it, and he squealed in pain.

"Reid, what—" Garcia cut herself off and stopped abruptly in the doorway. "Oh my god," she said, and looked behind herself to the hallway. "Derek! Derek quick!

Garcia ran over then, setting the bowl and washcloth on the nightstand, and yanked at Emily's wrist.

Reid cringed and struggled to get loose to no avail, his whole body flushing hot with panic and pain. He began to feel woozy.

"Derek! Hotch! Someone!" Garcia yelled again.

"What's the matter Penelope? Don't like me anymore?" Emily's voice, Emily's mouth, Emily's hand squeezing Reid's penis like a vice, but not Emily.

"You aren't Emily!" Reid yelled, glancing at Garcia's frightened eyes and open mouth.

Morgan finally flew in then, gaping momentarily at what he saw, and then charging forward. He pushed Garcia out of the way, and started yanking on Emily's hand.

"Not going to work," Reid managed to squeak.

"When's the last time you got laid, Dr. Reid?" The thing asked, still in Emily's voice.

Morgan pulled something from his pocket then, and pressed it against Emily's forearm. Reid heard sizzling, like bacon in a pan, and saw smoke just before the thing screamed and released him. Morgan pushed him to the floor, and grabbed his handcuffs.

Reid panted, and winced in pain. He heard the footsteps of the others as they charged into the room, but ignored them. He turned instead to the monster that looked so much like his friend. "Probably more recently than you."

She laughed, or rather _It_ laughed. Then she turned her attention to Garcia, who was behind Morgan, eyes wide in terror. "Pen-el-o-pee," she sang.

"What?"

The anger and coldness faded, and left a very human seeming Emily. "Who picked out that ridiculous outfit?"

Reid saw what it was doing, even as he held his throbbing groin, but Garcia didn't seem to get it. The thing seemed too much like Emily, like the experience JJ had described.

"Wha-what do you mean?"

"You look like a freak. But then, you are just a freak, right? A lonely little freak."

"Garcia, don't listen to it, it's not Emily," he yelled.

But the tech was focused completely on Emily. "Daddy left. Mommy remarried, and then Mommy and Daddy number two died. And, stepfather's sister decided you were a bad influence on such young boys, and didn't want you around." She chuckled. "And the boys haven't had much interest in talking to you since. Why would they? You're just a freak."

"Garcia, it's not her," Reid tried again, but tears were falling down her cheeks, and her face fallen in anguish, her eyes full of betrayal.

Then Morgan was suddenly yanking her out, and hands grabbed him and pulled him back, off the floor, pushing him out of the room. JJ and Hotch.

The creature's cackles followed them out, and were muffled only slightly when Rossi shut the door.

"No one goes in there unless absolutely necessary. Understood?" Hotch asked.

The doorbell interrupted any response they might have made.

* * *

She was in a café, and Garcia was jabbering on about something that she couldn't quite make sense of. Emily had no idea how she'd gotten there, or where the hell there was, but she was certain it was not her kind of place. It was, however, Garcia's type of joint. From the menu to the tablecloths the place screamed bright, colorful, cheerful, peppy, Penelope Garcia.

The tables were small and round, white gilded iron with white stone tops, a red rose painted on each. The chairs were gilded iron as well, with round baby pink cushions so they weren't rock hard. Tea was served in delicate little china cups and saucers with blue flowers, and a matching tea pot was set on the table. Small dishes held a pastry and a piece of lemon cake. Pink curtains hung in the windows and fresh flowers sat in white vases on each table and the check-out counter.

Garcia's voice broke through the confusion in her head. "So I finally had to physically separate them, and explain calmly that there were many theories about Dr. Who, and that they were welcome to their different opinions. I swear I've never seen Reid look so pissed, and Kevin…oh, it was so hot watching him spar."

Emily frowned. "Reid and Kevin were arguing about Dr. Who?"

"No, sweetie, they weren't arguing. They were full on waging World War III in my tiny living room. I thought Reid was going to have a coronary." Garcia sipped her tea.

"So, no more Dr. Who parties then?"

The tech shrugged. "Only with you or Morgan."

"Morgan? Really?" Emily asked.

Garcia offered a mischievous smile. "I can sucker that beautiful man into anything."

Emily shook her head wondering how Derek Morgan managed to get himself wrapped around the perfectly manicured finger of a buoyant and colorful computer nerd. She went to open her mouth, but frowned.

Garcia's face was suddenly grey. Grey like the dozens of cadavers she's seen over her years in law enforcement. "Garcia?"

She waved her hands. "I know, I know, it's wrong, but I'd do anything for him too, so I figure we're even."

Her skin started to look mottled, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Uh Garcia…"

"It does occasionally make things with Kevin a bit tense, but I think my love muffin is starting to get that he's the only guy in which I'm romantically interested."

Sections of her face began to darken, and Emily watched as the skin in those areas seemed to pull away from the bone. Garcia's left cheek was sagging badly, and the tech was still oblivious. Her mouth fell open, speechless as a chunk of skin on Garcia's neck seemed to almost crumble away from her flesh, and tumble down her chest to land on the table.

Emily's stomach turned over violently.

The tech's sagging left cheek finally ripped off and fell directly into Garcia's tea cup. She lifted her cup to her lips and sipped before Emily could stop her. Her face twisted into disgust, and she set the tea down.

"Oh, that's vile. I used to love the tea here, but this brew is just awful. Have you tried yours?"

"Garcia, your skin is falling off."

"What?" Garcia brought a hand to her face, feeling around, then glanced at her discarded cup. "Oh! Well, I can fix this easy."

Emily watched as her friend brought her hands up to her forehead, dug her cotton candy blue fingernails into her own skin, and dragged her hands down her face, pulling off all her skin.

She promptly discarded the putrid mess onto the café's maple-finished floors, leaving nothing on her face but rotten flesh and crawling maggots.

She smiled at Emily, showing dark red, blistered gums. "There, that's better. Let me just call for a fresh pot of tea."

* * *

Rossi and Hotch escorted Jimmy and Father Halloran, the church investigator in D.C., up to Emily's bedroom. They'd left Morgan helping Reid to the sofa, and JJ getting him ice for his injury. Rossi made himself a mental note to keep his manhood out of her reach, or rather _it's_ reach.

"You're sure you've sufficiently ruled out mental illness or neurological disorders?" The priest demanded.

"Yes, Father we ruled both out, drugs use as well," Rossi said.

"Before you go in, we should explain. She got the restraints off, so we had to handcuff to the headboard," Hotch said.

"You've what?" He stopped his assent and glared at Jimmy. "Handcuffs. The poor woman. Honestly, I'd expect better from a bunch of FBI agents. I only came, because Jimmy was so damned insistent and I figured FBI agents were fairly rational people." He moved his glare to them. "How wrong was I."

"I assure you, Marcus, this young lady's mortal soul is in grave danger." Jimmy rested a hand on the older man's shoulder.

Halloran snorted and continued up. He was over seventy, but strong and spry, the kind of priest Rossi remembered kicking his ass when he was a kid. He walked slowly, more a shuffle, but one look from his stern eyes would shut anyone up. His skin was withered and liver-spotted and his hair gray and thin, but his eyes were so very sharp. When they entered the room he walked right up to the bed.

"Young lady, these people tell me you carry the devil in you. Is that true?"

Emily slowly turned her head toward the priest, then barred her teeth and spit on him. She didn't speak.

Halloran sighed, but was not flummoxed. "I've seen and endured far worse than human sputum."

It spoke with Emily's voice. "Si deus nobiscum, quis contra nos?"

The priest laughed through his nose. "I suppose you're suggesting that that's you?"

Hotch leaned toward Rossi. "What did she say?"

"I think it was, if God is with us, who can be against us?"

Emily smiled. "You don't believe in me, Father Halloran."

"No, I do not." He turned to them. "I expect this woman to be released, and qualified medical personnel to be called immediately." He turned to Jimmy before they could comment. "Really James, I thought you knew better than this, I—"

The creature's raspy, shattered voice broke in. "Blows and wounds cleanse away evil, and beatings purge the inmost being."

The priest turned to her, body suddenly tense.

"Proverbs 20:30," Jimmy said.

Then there was a wet tearing sound as a jagged cut suddenly appeared on Emily's arm. Before they could process, the sound repeated, one instance leading into another. Her body began to jolt, first with the cuts, and then more severely, as if someone was beating her. Rossi stood there, frozen in horror, but unable to think of a single thing to help her.

"Blows and wounds," It repeated.

Halloran just stared wide-eyed. Then he began to whisper. "God, I call to thee, and ask you and your only son to watch over this woman, and deliver her from this…this Hell."

He pulled out his rosary, and held it over Emily, letting the cross hang, and just barely brush her skin. A thin trail of smoke appeared, and the creature began to snarl.

"Take your trinkets, Father. Take your trinkets, and leave her to me. She doesn't deserve your protection or prayer."

"Everyone deserves protection from the likes of you."

It laughed. "She is not innocent, Father. She is not pure. Darkness creeps through her soul like a cancer. Let her burn with me, where she belongs. Save your prayer and pity for the ones who need it."

"I would no sooner walk away and sacrifice a single soul to you, than give up my faith and love for God."

The bed began to shake then, and the scarves began to unwind themselves from her ankles. With faint clinking, the handcuffs unlocked themselves and fell off. Emily's body began to slowly peel away from the mattress, until there was a good inch separating her from the sheet. Rossi felt his heart pounding in his veins as his mind struggled to believe what his eyes were seeing.

Then the chaos of earlier began to repeat. Objects began to fly around the room. Books tumbled from shelves, trinkets flew into walls, and the lights began to flicker. Then with no warning, Emily was pulled across the room, as if a great hand a grabbed her, and her body slammed into the opposite wall. Then she slammed into the wall again, and dropped like a dead weight.

Hotch raced over, before Rossi found his limbs again, and raced over to join him.

"She's unconscious," Hotch said, fingers on her pulse. "But, she's still alive."

"I, I need to contact Bishop Hosen…and the Vatican." Halloran was staring at Emily, eyes unfocused, hands clenched into fists by his sides. Jimmy stepped close, and put a hand on his shoulder. The old priest shook himself. "She needs to be moved. Saint Agatha's has a facility…she will need medical care during and after the exorcism."

"She needs medical care now," Rossi said.

He nodded. "Indeed. An ambulance and clergy will be here in less than an hour. They'll sedate her, and move her. You can meet them at the hospital."

"No, one of us has to ride with her." Hotch insisted on it, before he could.

"I'll see that they allow it." He turned to leave, Jimmy beside him, but Rossi stopped him.

"Father Halloran." He turned around. "What it said wasn't true. She deserves help."

The old man looked him in the eye. "My father was a cop. He wasn't perfect, he had his demons, so to speak. Your friend…I'm certain she has made mistakes…just like the rest of us."

Then he was gone, and Dave turned to help Hotch get Emily back into bed, averting his eyes when her robe fell open. He saw Hotch do the same.

* * *

_If Proverbs 20/30 sounds familiar, it should, it was quoted in "Minimal Loss", though worded a bit differently. I think the wording depends on the version of the bible. The next chapter is going to be a bit of a breather as they prepare for the exorcism, and then things will get crazy again. Thank you all very much for reading, and once again, sorry for the unpredictable updating schedule. Life is busy._


	7. Chapter 7

Morgan was crammed into the back of an ambulance sitting beside a priest, while the EMTs sat in front. They'd taken care of Emily's immediate medical needs before leaving her apartment, so they didn't need to be in back. Morgan was the only one that could hold her down, so he was chosen to go with her. He was incredibly thankful for that as he sat hunched over, holding her hand in both of his, and pleading with God to help her out of this. His relationship with God still wasn't very good, but he prayed nonetheless.

The priest wore the standard black garb and white collar, and held a crucifix between his palms as he prayed. Morgan could see his mouth silently moving in a pattern and rhythm that had been steady since they'd departed.

Emily was sedated. She looked almost peaceful, or would have if not the straps keeping her on the gurney and the bruises and cuts all over her. Purple was even seeping into her face on the right side, where she'd hit the wall. The EMTs had fortunately not found any broken bones.

The physical damage wasn't what worried him now. Emily was strong, she could take whatever was thrown at her and fight through it. No, what had Morgan trembling inside was the fact that they hadn't had even a glimpse of Emily since Father Davison had first come, hours earlier.

Were they already too late? And if a demon was in her body, where the hell was Emily? Was she seeing, feeling and hearing everything? Was she paralyzed inside her own body, watching, but unable to fight?

Demon. Morgan had to shake his head at that thought. How could any of this be real?

Yesterday, he'd have been the first to call bullshit. Part of him still wanted to chalk it all up a severe psychotic break. A _very _severe psychotic break. Anything would be easier to swallow than a demon. Demons were a Sunday school fable, one that his childhood priests liked to torment them with, but that was it. Just a fable.

But Morgan had seen some unexplainable entity do things he'd never thought possible. He'd seen that entity inflict horror on his partner's body, horrors that it turned his stomach to think about now, even as his eyes drifted back toward the evidence. He swallowed down the emotions that began to breed tears, and gently squeezed her hand.

"Come on, Prentiss," he said. "You've got to come back to us."

They came to a sudden stop, and Morgan heard the engine click off and the doors up front open. The EMTs yanked the back doors open, and ushered him and the priest out so they could get to Emily. Morgan saw that they were in back of a church, an old one that was made of stone. Even through the dark he could make out the crosses sitting on the roof points above the gables, and turret rising up on the side closest to them. It was gothic style, he'd guess, filled with stained glassed and the rigid authority of the church.

Two priests came and met them as the EMTs got the gurney out.

"Good evening, Agent, Father Halloran told us to expect you," the older one greeted. His face was creased with wrinkles, and his grey hair thin over his skull, but he looked a hell of a lot nicer than the priests Morgan remembered from growing up.

"Derek Morgan. This is Father Donahue, and Emily is on the gurney. Father Halloran said you could help us until the Vatican sanctions the exorcism."

"Father Richard, and this is my colleague, Father Hughes. We will do all that we can for your friend."

Father Hughes, the younger one, was already by the gurney, his mouth moving rapid fire in quiet prayers, and his hands moving up to make the sign of the cross over her.

Morgan swallowed. "There are more of our friends coming. They should be here any minute."

"I don't know that it's wise to have so many people around her under the circumstances," Father Richard said.

"All due respect, Father, we need to be here. We're family, and we don't abandon our own, not even temporarily, and especially not when they're…when they're in danger."

He nodded. "This is a house of God, and you are all welcome here, but I have to ask that you listen to us, and follow our instructions when we give them. This is a very different kind of monster than you're used to, Agent Morgan."

Morgan nodded, and followed the priests into St. Agatha's. He held Emily's hand as the EMTs pushed the gurney, and only let go when they reached a door that led to a set of stairs. Father Hughes led the way down, while Father Richard held the door. The EMTs collapsed the gurney and carried it down the old stone steps.

It wasn't dingy or dark, but rather the opposite. The basement was well lit and clean, used primarily for storage it seemed. There were sealed boxes, and neatly organized shelves lining two walls, and two doors in another wall. Father Hughes opened one of these, and walked inside without a word. The EMTs followed, Morgan not far behind them.

The room held a bed that looked like it came out of a convent, with a small iron frame and thin mattress. The sheets were white, like in a hospital, and there appeared to already be some medical equipment in pace. There were crucifixes above the bed and the door frame, and nailed to the other two walls as well. There were two recessed lights built into the ceiling, pouring fluorescent light down on them.

"Did you just prep this room?" He asked.

The young red-haired priest shook his head. "About 20 years ago, the church decided we needed a facility where we could safely perform exorcisms. The room doesn't have much, but we do now have the ability to provide proper medical care."

"Right…so what's the room next door then?"

"A resting space for the priest performing the ceremony. It can be a very exhausting process, and very time-consuming."

Morgan nodded. "So, I've heard."

"Agent Morgan."

He turned to see Father Donahue with the rest of the team, and Jimmy. There was an air of discomfort about them as they glanced over the storage area and the exorcism room. Rossi and Jimmy were the only ones that appeared unbothered.

Morgan looked back at the bed to find the EMTs had transferred Emily already, and were hooking her up to the monitors and an IV bag.

"Uh, what's with all of that?" Garcia asked.

The female EMT looked up, and offered a reassuring smile. "Just some basic equipment to keep her hydrated, and monitor her pulse and blood pressure. Dale and I will keep an eye on her until Dr. Faber gets here."

"Dr. Faber?" Rossi asked.

"He's from Holy Cross over in Baltimore, he's present at every exorcism in the area."

"So, you've done this before?" Morgan asked.

"Oh yeah, Dale and I handle transport for every exorcism. Church likes to involve as few people as possible, and we know how to keep our mouths shut."

"So, then you believe in all this?" JJ shifted anxiously on her feet.

"Don't know, and don't want to know. We never stick around the to the show. I wouldn't bet against it though."

"Her blood pressure is up, even with the sedatives. Pulse too, but it's not too high," Dale stepped away from the machines, and turned from his partner to them. "This is pretty normal, so don't be too alarmed.

Normal, Morgan thought, yeah, this was all perfectly normal.

* * *

Reid looked over when Rossi snorted and shook his head. Feeling eyes on him, he turned to Reid, his own eyes filled with sadness. "Jimmy was right, we didn't notice."

"Didn't notice what?" Morgan asked.

"Emily." He sighed. "Think about, she was losing herself. The last year, maybe even longer."

They were silent until Morgan spoke. "I noticed, I just didn't…I didn't want to face it."

"What are you talking about?" Garcia asked, worried eyes ricocheting from one man to the other.

"She shot a man to death this year, not even a year after she sat in a car and watched a cop being murdered. That I know stuck with her. And even if he was an unsub, that death stuck with her too," Rossi explained.

"After Marianne Collins died a couple months ago, she kept trying to wipe the blood off her hands. A week before that she was telling me how the families are the hardest part of what we do. I could see it in her." Morgan shook his head, his teeth planted deeply into his lip.

"She has seemed off," Reid said, turning his face down. Had they done this? Had they left her vulnerable?

"But, but she was fine," Garcia said. "She seemed a little tired, but she was fine."

"She wouldn't let us think that she was anything except fine, would she?" Rossi asked.

"That's why the demon took her?" JJ said.

Reid watched Rossi open his mouth, but it was Morgan who spoke. "She was losing faith in what we do, and more importantly, in herself. Maybe that's all it takes."

All six of them were upstairs in the main part of the church, resting on their knees before the altar. Jimmy had led them in a prayer, and then stepped out to tend to something. Father Richard was taking them one by one into confession. The priests had agreed that if they were going to be downstairs during the ceremony that they needed to be cleansed of sin beforehand. It was Hotch's turn now.

So far, there was no word from the Vatican, but they were all operating under the assumption that the ceremony would be sanctioned.

Reid was terrified.

This wasn't something he could explain with science, or even psychology. It wasn't something that made sense to his logical brain. This was fantasy. No, this was supposed to be fantasy, something from horror films made in Hollywood. This was pure insanity.

But it was real.

It was real that they were gathered in a church, praying and waiting for the church to send the equivalent of a Catholic witch-doctor to release Emily from the hell that had stolen her. Something had taken over her body, abused her body, and made her do things she'd never do, say things that she would never say.

Hotch stepped out of the confessional, straightening himself, and walking forward. His conflict, his confusion, was written in his eyes, but only to someone who knew him well enough to read them.

"Dr. Reid?"

Reid swallowed, and took his turn, standing up, and walking forward. He gently shut the door to the booth, and sat fidgeting in his seat.

"Have you ever done this before, Doctor?" A voice asked.

He glanced toward the perforated partition, and quickly looked away. He wasn't supposed to do that, was he? Reid cleared his throat. "Um, no. I wasn't brought up with religion."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but Jesus doesn't have an RSVP by date. He'll welcome you whenever you're ready to welcome him."

"I, I don't think I'm ready to yet." He tensed, bracing himself for judgment that never came.

"You don't have to be ready yet. How about we just jump in, and you tell me about your sins?"

Reid nodded and then winced when he realized the other man couldn't really see it. "Uh sorry. I…I've hurt people while on the job, killed people."

"This was to protect others or yourself?"

"Yes, sir, um Father."

There was a beat of silence. "Yet, this weighs on you."

"The one man, he wasn't bad." Reid shifted in the seat, his right leg bouncing anxiously. "He wasn't all bad."

"This man, he did bad things, he hurt people?"

"He killed people, yes. But he had a psychiatric condition, Dissociative Identity Disorder. It's when a person develops alters, or additional complete personalities, to handle situations they can't handle themselves. Usually it develops from severe childhood abuse, often sexual abuse, and can be quite dramatic. I once heard of a case—"

"Doctor," the priest interrupted. "While I agree that the subject is fascinating, we have limited time, so if you could please get back to the original topic?"

Reid shrunk back, feeling even more awkward now. He finished his confession quickly, repeated the prayer the priest said, and returned to the group.

Morgan was after him, and he was in there for no more than ten minutes when Garcia chuckled. All eyes turned to her, his included.

She blushed. "I was just thinking, if Emily was up here with us, she'd be cracking a joke about how Morgan's going to be in there forever trying to explain all his lady friends."

JJ took one of her hands and squeezed it. Garcia nodded. "I can practically hear her saying it as if she's right beside me."

"She'll be okay, Pen," JJ said.

Garcia nodded, but her expression soon dissolved into tears. She was afraid and overwhelmed by all of it, and Reid could certainly relate to that.

After another minute, Morgan stepped out, face rigid with tension, and mouth deep in a scowl. Then he saw Garcia crying, and his demeanor changed instantly. He hurried over, and pulled her into his arms. Garcia clung to him.

"Excuse me, folks." Father Hughes appeared, calling their attention. "I just received a call from Father Halloran. The Vatican has sanctioned the ceremony."

* * *

_Alright, not super thrilled with this chapter, but it's kind of the calm before the storm. The exorcism is up next. However, I'm going to be out of town for part of this weekend, so updating might be delayed. Thanks for reading, and please review!_


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Warnings for cursing and violence. FYI, this chapter is not happy. _

* * *

Rossi swallowed at the sight of his dear friend lying prone, and looking like death warmed over. The demon was being quiet, save for the weeping sores covering her body. The tears the creature had torn in her skin had flushed bright red, and erupted with a putrid, yellowish puss. One of the priests had made an attempt with rubbing alcohol, but it failed to help any.

They'd fought like hell to make sure one of them was in the room with Emily during the exorcism, and being the only faithful Catholic among them, Rossi was given the job. Morgan had fought for it, but it was easy for the priests to sense the tension between the man and his religion. They had refused and insisted it was Dave himself or no one. Rossi wasn't sure how he felt about witnessing an exorcism, let alone one of a woman who'd come to mean a great deal to him.

They had switched Emily from a robe to a hospital gown and fixed her wrists and ankles to the iron bed frame with shackles. Jimmy had explained that they'd been blessed, and so couldn't be broken by evil. His old friend was beside him now in the room full of priests. Hughes was outside with the rest of the team, his job was to keep them all calm as the exorcism proceeded. Father Richard was inside, beside the exorcist, Father Fiore. He was Italian American, and had smiled at hearing Rossi's name in the introductions.

He had to be pushing seventy, and Rossi was wondering how doing exorcisms hadn't given him a heart attack yet. But he appeared calm as he prepared himself to banish a demon from the beautiful, very sick woman on the bed. He wore the traditional black cassock with a black surplice overtop, and a purple stole hanging gently around his shoulders. After finishing his prayers, he made the sign of the cross over himself, and moved around the room, crossing each of them. When he turned and did the same in the air over Emily, she flinched, but remained still.

He accepted a small bottle from Father Richard, and removed the cap, placing a single finger over the opening, before shaking the bottle at them. Rossi tensed when the holy water hit him, unprepared for the spritz.

When he shook the water over Emily, life suddenly seemed to flow back into her. Her body tensed, and her eyes flew open, fury burning inside them. She growled at the priest.

He continued unbothered, speaking in a clear, deep voice. "Lord have mercy."

"Lord have mercy," the other priests repeated.

"Christ have mercy," Father Fiore said.

"Christ have mercy," they repeated.

"Christ hear us," Fiore said, and Rossi finally recognized the Litany of the Saints.

He repeated with the others, "Christ graciously hear us."

The four of them calmly went through the whole prayer, the demon alternately snarling and laughing at them.

"Rossi. Rossi." It was Emily's voice, and he immediately looked up at him.

Jimmy grabbed his arms. "Don't look into its eyes."

Rossi ducked his head again. The demon continued to try and get his attention.

"Rossi, please help me. Dave, oh god, please help," it begged in Emily's sob.

He ignored it.

"I trusted you," she said, voice strained. "I trusted you. I confided in you, told you my secrets. Don't do this to me! Please don't do this to me!"

He wanted to look at her, he wanted to assure her that he'd do everything he could to help her, and he wanted to run over to the bed, wrap her in his arms, and promise that they'd save her. He could do none of those things. He could only stand by helplessly as she begged him.

He repeated verses with the priests, searching his mind desperately for some, and tried not to listen to her. He tried not to think of how much pain his friend was in, and how she may not even survive the ceremony.

Father Fiore cleared his throat, held the cross over Emily, and began to recite words Rossi had never heard in all his days going to church. "Holy Lord, almighty Father, everlasting God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ; hasten to our call for help and snatch from ruination and from the clutches of the noonday devil this human being made in your image and likeness."

Emily began to scream. Not in the demon's voice, but her own.

* * *

Pain coursed through her, and Emily stumbled and fell again. She breathed heavily, and shaking, pushed herself up to a sitting position. There was a strange force that kept knocking her around. It felt like she was in a dryer almost. After a minute with nothing happening, Emily got onto her feet. She was still trembling, but managed to take a step forward.

She had no idea where she was.

It didn't look like any place she'd ever been before, or any place she might be inclined to go. It was as weird and hellish as any place she'd been in what felt like days. The shower, the living room, the café, it was like some horrendous nightmare that she couldn't escape. And this landscape didn't appear any different. It looked almost like desert, but the sand was grayish, not golden like it should have been.

Some force slammed into her back then, knocking her to the ground again. But she didn't land.

No, Emily was gone for a minute, her body was wracked with agony, and strange men surrounded her. They were chanting, or almost chanting.

As quick as she left, she was back in the desert, picking herself up of the ground again. She felt something scraping her left leg, and moved to see what it was. She could barely make it out, so Emily grabbed it with a hand, and tugged. She tugged harder and harder, until it came free, the force knocking her on her back. She sat up, and looked at the object in her hand.

It was a piece of a bone. The top or bottom of a very small tibia. The kind that would only fit a child.

Emily stared at the bone and at the sand, her eyes wide in realization. She abruptly dropped the bone, and sat taking deep breaths and trying not to throw-up.

The force from earlier hit her again, rocketing into her chest and pushing her onto her back.

She was in the room from before, her body heavy with pain. An older man in a purple stole was speaking, reciting something, and Emily looked around frantically. She saw Rossi.

Emily opened her mouth to yell to him, but was ripped away again, back into the desert. The desert of bone dust.

Her body jerked several times, and she left again. She wanted to stay. She wanted to talk to Rossi, even with the pain she was feeling.

"Dave!" She hollered before being ejected back to the desert.

She couldn't even catch her breath before it happened again. And again. And again.

Her body jerked and twisted every time, before she suddenly appeared in the room full of priests and Rossi. Then she'd be returned to the bone desert to start all over again.

Emily began to cry.

* * *

"Depart, then impious one! Depart, accursed one! Depart with all your deceits, for God has willed that man should be His temple!" Father Fiore yelled at the demon. It had been hours since they began, but the old priest wasn't tired yet.

Rossi was exhausted.

It cackled. "Spare them not; but slay both man and woman, infant and suckling!"

Rossi's palms were sweating, and his heart was racing faster than he'd ever felt it go before. He was sure he'd have a coronary.

The crucifixes nailed to the wall were shaking, and the lights were flickering, threatening to go out any minute. He heard things out in the hallway being tossed about, and he hoped the others were keeping out of the way of it.

"But God you cannot mock! It is He who casts you out, from whose sight nothing is hidden! It is He who repels you!" The priest shouted back.

Suddenly, the demon turned to Rossi. "I will destroy her! I will rip her to pieces! I will fuck her and shred her from the inside out!"

"By the power of Christ I command you to depart! Leave this woman! Leave this servant of God! I command you now! Depart evil one! Depart unclean spirit!"

Father Fiore continued to shout and condemn the demon as the three of them cycled through the Lord's Prayer, Hail Mary and the Creed over and over.

The creature squealed suddenly, and Rossi's head shot up. Something was different. Then it was gone.

"An unquenchable fire stands ready for you and for your minions, you prince of accursed murderers, father of lechery! Depart now! Depart!"

Emily began to shake on the bed. No, not shake, her body wracked with tremors, almost as if she was having seizures. Full-blown grand mal seizures.

The lights flicked off, sending them completely into darkness. The ruckus outside increased, and he could hear the others shouting. Objects began to crash into the door, as if aiming for it, as if trying to break it down.

The demon screamed. "Fuck you! Fuck you! I'll rip your hearts out, all of you!"

"God commands you back to Hell, you creator of sin! With the power of Jesus Christ, savior of man, I send you back, vile spirit! Depart from us! Depart! You cannot have this woman's immortal soul!"

The demon screamed and screamed. With it's broken, ugly voice it nearly deafened them. Then the scream became human.

For several seconds it was Emily screaming, until there was nothing. No screaming, no body jerking around on the bed, no pounding on the door.

It was over.

* * *

_A/N: It feels like it's been forever since I updated this, sorry for that. I've been rather busy for the last week and a half. Thank you all so much for the reviews and for continuing to follow this story! _

_Since I almost forgot, I'm adding a reminder here for anyone with a shoddy memory like mine. For anyone planning on voting for the Profiler's Choice Awards, the deadline is coming up fast to get nomination ballots in (10/15)._

_A/N Update: Further testament to my shit-tastic memory, I meant to note that I pulled most of the exorcism rite from a rite I found online. Most of that is what is actually said, though not necessarily in that order. Thank you marcallie for pointing that out.  
_


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: WARNING: Contains graphic and sexual content._

* * *

Morgan led the charge into the room after everything had died down, peeling his body off Garcia's. When everything started flying around, he'd pushed her to the ground, and shielded her with his body. Hotch had done the same for JJ, and now gingerly pulled himself of her. Her eyes were wide with vivid fright, but Hotch ignored it as he followed Morgan into the room, the girls racing in behind him.

"Did it work?" He heard Morgan demand.

Reid joined Father Richard in examining Emily, until the recently arrived Dr. Faber managed to drag his shaking form into the room.

"I sure as hell hope so," Rossi said. He looked pale, exhausted, and weaker than Hotch had ever seen his friend.

"I believe it did," Father Fiore said.

"Her pulse is strong, a bit rapid even," the doctor commented. "Breathing is rapid, and she's warm, but I don't imagine that's a fever. We need to hook her up to a drip. Do you have the equipment, Fathers?"

Father Hughes nodded, and he and Father Richard left to get it.

"Prentiss is alright?" Hotch asked, still unsure, or perhaps afraid to believe.

"She's alive. We'll clean her wounds again. I don't want to put her on pain meds until she wakes up though," Dr. Faber answered.

"Why isn't she awake?" Morgan said.

"She's exhausted. It usually takes a few hours for the recently exorcized to wake up." Faber turned. "Father Fiore, I should really take a look at you as well."

Fiore looked like he was about to fall down, at least if Jimmy weren't beside him, holding him up as he guided him out of the room. Fiore nodded. "When you've finished getting Ms. Prentiss settled, I'll be next door."

The team watched in silence, Garcia clinging to Morgan and squeezing JJ's hand as the doctor tended to Emily. He worked quietly, and with occasional assistance from Reid, who he seemed to be grateful to have around. Hotch turned away toward Rossi.

"Are you okay?"

The older man offered a grim smile. "I'll live. I'm still worried about Emily though."

"You should get some rest." He turned back to the team. "After the doctor leaves, you should all get some rest."

"What about you?" JJ asked.

"I'm going to stay with Emily, in case she wakes up." He didn't want her to wake up in a strange place alone, and frankly, he was still worried.

"I could stay with her, Hotch," Morgan said.

"You take the next shift." The other man looked ready to push it, but just nodded. Garcia hanging on him, still completely terrified probably had something to do with that.

The doctor finished with Emily, and left to tend to the priest. Not long after that the team began to file out at Hotch's insistence. Between the case and Emily, they'd been burning it at both ends for far too long.

Once they'd left, Hotch sought out the folding chair, and brought it back into the room. He positioned it against the wall across from the bed, and sat down, his body suddenly feeling very heavy. He let his head fall into his hands, and took deep breaths in and out. This was complete and utter insanity. It was really happening, but it was impossible. It scared the hell out of him to think that demons were real. It was bad enough that human monsters exist; now they had to fight real monsters as well?

How was he supposed to protect his son?

A low moan drew his attention to the bed. Emily shifted and whimpered.

"Prentiss?" He said.

She moaned again, but it ended in an exhale. "Hotch?"

He moved closer to the bed. "Hey, welcome back."

Her head lulled in his direction, and her eyes began to flutter. Hotch smiled when he saw her brown eyes, but his smile dropped abruptly at what he saw in them. It felt like ice slid down his spine, and he moved his hand to his weapon, only to freeze, unable to move.

She sat up in bed, and slid out from under the covers. Her feet hit the floor with a quiet slap and she stood up, never breaking eye contact with him. She went to move forward, but the IV tugged her arm back. She ripped it out, and walked forward. Prentiss moved so her body was pressed closed to his, and dragged one hand down his chest, over his groin, and toward his right hip. Her hand landed on top of his, and he heard a flick as she opened his holster.

Hotch swallowed, his heart thudding madly in his chest, wild with panic. She – no it – was going to kill him. Holding his hand, she pulled his Glock from his holster, but she didn't point it at him. Instead, she brought his hand and gun toward herself, and Hotch's heart kicked up to a whole new gear.

The demon was going to kill Prentiss.

It twisted his wrist so the gun was facing up, the barrel parallel against her stomach, pointed at the ceiling. Then in slow, deliberate movements, it pulled his hand lower and under her hospital gown. Hotch felt his knuckles brush her warm thighs, and his brain screamed at him. He couldn't do anything to stop it though, he was completely frozen by the demon's gaze.

It rapidly thrust the gun upward, pushing inside Prentiss's body. Hotch felt his fingers brushing a part of her body that he had no business touching. But he couldn't let go of the gun, and he couldn't pull it out of her.

The demon did that on it's own, slowly drawing the barrel out of her, before rapidly thrusting it into her vagina again. It did this over and over again, growing faster as it moved, and mimicking moans of pleasure as it moved the weapon. When Hotch began to feel warm liquid running down his hand, he knew it wasn't cum or urine.

Blood.

Prentiss was bleeding, and he couldn't stop it, he couldn't help her.

Suddenly, it shook the Glock from his hand, and shifted closer. It took his hand, her fingers slipping on the blood, and brought it back under her grown. It thrust his hand inside her body. Hotch felt his fingers brush her opening, and into her wet, warmth.

"Fuck me," the demon snarled. "Come on, boy scout, fuck me hard!"

It was Prentiss's voice, her body pressed close to his, her breasts pressed against his chest, her breath hitting his ear. It pulled his hand out and thrust it back in, and Hotch was helpless to stop it.

"Harder! Harder!" It yelled, it's movements growing faster and less controlled. Then the demon's broken rasp broke through. "You've thought about it, boy scout. I know you have. You've thought about fucking her. You think about fucking all your little underlings?"

It laughed, a twisted cackle that rang through the room.

"Aaron?" A voice broke in. Dave. "Oh, shit."

"Rossi, what the…?" Morgan.

He heard their shoes slapping against the floor as they charged over. Dave grabbed his shoulders and pulled him away, as Morgan tackled Emily. The demon continued laughing.

Hotch's trance was finally broken, and he shook his head. His eyes landed on his blood covered Glock, then his blood-soaked hand, and finally the puddles and trails leading to Morgan and Emily.

The demon still laughed. Then Morgan screamed. Hotch was too shell-shocked to move, but he watched Rossi head over, only stopping to poke his head out, and scream for help.

Prentiss was on her feet, and Morgan was suddenly flying across the room, his body slamming into the opposite wall, just below a crucifix. He didn't move.

The front of her gown was covering in seeping red, her legs were smeared with blood as far as he could see, and it still dripped from between her legs. Rossi stood nearby, eyes wide but averted from the demon, his mouth moving rapidly as he chanted a prayer.

The demon still laughed.

* * *

"Babylon Cecidit, cecidit, illa magna." She was staring at them, eyes full of hatred and fury.

Rossi felt as if all the evil he'd seen in his life was right there in her familiar eyes, boiling and raging, ready to explode forth and consume them all. Had they left her so vulnerable? That such a creature could slide into her body, and eat away at every beautiful piece of her?

"What did it say, Dave?" Hotch's shaking voice came from behind him.

"Babylon is fallen, is fallen, that great city, I think it's from the bible." He breathed in. "Aaron, I think it's talking about Emily."

"Sic impetu mittetur Babylon magna illa civitas et ultra iam non invenietur," the demon cried, turning her face up and screeching into the air.

Before Hotch could ask, Rossi translated, "Thus with violence the great city Babylon will be thrown down, and shall be found no more at all."

The room plunged into chaos.

All four crucifixes ripped away from their restraints, and went shooting toward opposite sides of the room. Medical equipment and the folding chair followed suit, and Rossi had to duck and cover his head to prevent being hit. The bible on the bed snapped open, and the pages flipped as if a strong wind had blown them. Then they seem to tear themselves from the book, and the room became filled with a blinding hurricane of paper.

Rossi began to pray with more sincerity and effort than he ever had in his life.

Fathers Richard and Hughes barged in, and Hughes was immediately lifted in the air and slammed into a wall, not unlike Morgan had been earlier. Derek was still on the floor, though he was awake now, and his eyes wide with fear, for himself or his partner, Rossi didn't know.

Jimmy suddenly appeared beside him with Father Fiore, who still looked exhausted. JJ, Reid and Garcia appeared has well, their eyes wide and faces pale with terror.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," Garcia said over the over again.

"By the power of Christ I command you to depart!" Fiore yelled, clutching his rosary in his hand. "You unclean spirit, you devil, you wretched vermin! This woman belongs to God, Creator and defender of the human race, and his son, the Lord Jesus Christ! Depart oh cursed one! I demand you depart now!"

Objects stopped flying all over the room, and the paper settled back onto the ground. The demon turned toward Fiore, and looked at him through Emily's brown eyes. It was silent and still, her body tense as it pondered its next move.

"Repel, 0 Lord, the devil's power, break asunder his snares and traps, put the unholy tempter to flight." Fiore broke the silence. "Free this woman from this most unholy bondage!"

Then it screamed. Rossi slapped his hands over his ears. The sound was abrasive and unimaginable. It was like the roar of a lion and the shrieking squeal of a New York City express train shooting through a subway station. He felt like his head might burst.

As the scream began to trail off, he heard something else. The sound of flesh tearing and blows being landed. He glanced around, but the only body being abused was Emily's already tortured frame.

The demon remained focused on them, even as her body jolted with the force of invisible blows. He saw the skin of her of right bicep suddenly rip open, and blood trail down her arm.

It was going to kill her so they couldn't save her.

"Identify yourself, demon! Abandon your cowardly hiding, and say who you are!" Fiore hollered. He had tried to get a name earlier, but had failed.

"Coward?" It said. "Says the man who hides behind a title and a piece of jewelry!" It screamed again. "I was around thousands of years before your Christ walked the Earth! And, I will be around long after your faith is dead!"

"What did you say she spoke, Davey?" Jimmy asked, half yelling to be heard.

"Reid said it was Akkadian, I think. Or Sumerian…" He looked to the young man. "Reid what language did she speak earlier!"

"Sumerian!"

Jimmy looked at the other priests. "Sumerian demons, name them!"

"Pazuzu!" Hughes said. The demon didn't react.

"Succubus!" Fiori called. "Anzu! Humbaba!"

Hughes threw another one out. "Lamashtu!"

That did it. Its demeanor changed just the slightest bit, it's confidence shaken. "That's the one!" Rossi cried.

"Lamashtu, tormentor of mothers and infants, architect of nightmares, bringer of pestilence, and poisoner of water and foliage, I know you, I know you and I command you to depart!" Fiori sprinkled holy water on her.

* * *

_Yup, exercising demons is not that easy. Emily is not safe yet. Stay tuned. FYI, those are the actual names of some demons._

_Thank you everyone that has read, reviewed, favorited, and followed!_


	10. Chapter 10

_Thank you all so much for the reviews on the last chapter! It made me feel better during a rather shit-tastic week._

* * *

Emily's fears and uneasiness quieted, but only for a moment. She saw him there, standing as calmly as the last time she was with him. He didn't look angry either. His mouth wasn't quite a smile, but it was better than neutral. After everything she'd seen, Emily just wanted to run to him, but she couldn't quite trust it. Not only because nothing was what it seemed in whatever hellish world she'd landed in, but because he had every reason to hate her.

He was all at once lost lover and a nightmare from her past.

"I-Ian?" She said.

"Hello, Love. Did you miss me?" His voice slid over her, as smooth and silky as she'd ever heard it.

"How are you here?"

"Same way you are, in spirit, but not in body. Thanks to you that's still in prison."

She bit her lip. "Where are we?"

"Hell."

"What?"

He smiled. "Don't you recognized eternal damnation when you see it, Love? You should, it's home to seducers and whores."

Emily swallowed. "I was doing my job. By the end, I didn't want to hurt you, Ian, but I didn't have a choice."

"Oh Love, we always have choices. You chose to lie to me, and you chose to remain loyal to your team, not to me. Not to us." His smile turned ugly with hate.

"You were hurting people, Ian! You were giving bad people, evil people, weapons that they used to kill and enslave and destroy! What was I supposed to do?"

"None of that seemed to bother you when we made love." His demeanor was irritatingly stable and calm.

Emily gritted her teeth. "I was playing a part."

"And such a talented actress you are, Love."

"What do you want me to say?" She gave a helpless shake of her head.

"You gave my boy a death sentence."

She stared at him, desperately wanting to deny it, but afraid to at the same time. This couldn't really be Ian Doyle, he was in prison, but what if he was here same as her? Instead she lied. "I tried to protect him."

He smiled, one that was almost kind, and moved closer to her. One hand came up to softly stroke her cheek, and Emily was reminded how she'd fallen for him in the first place. "It will all be forgiven in time."

"What do you mean?"

He pressed a gentle peck to her lips, and Emily fought against the memories it evoked. She couldn't trust it. When his hand wound tightly around her wrist, she knew she'd been right.

"You will be here with me forever, Love."

A lump slid painfully down her throat, but Emily refused to show any other outward sign of fear. "No," she said. "I won't."

She tried to break free, but his grip was like a vice. His fingers squeezed her wrist until she cried out with the pain. She hit him with her other hand, and kicked at him, but the blows seemed to bounced right off him. The pain in her wrist increased almost exponentially, and she saw smoke trailing out from his grip. Emily screamed.

He released her. So quickly, that she fell backward. Emily scrambled away in an awkward crab walk, eyes never leaving him. Something grabbed her left ankle then, and when Emily tried to shake loose, eyes landed on the gnarled grey hand holding her. She glanced up at Ian, and then found him watching her, looking somewhere between pleased and bored.

He began to change. Emily watched his face begin to morph as another gnarled hand grabbed at her, this time gripping her blouse. She tried to push herself back to a standing position as Ian's face became a distorted caricature of human. His eyebrow ridges deepened to an exaggerated clown look, and his mouth widened to show sharpened teeth. His body began to change too. Massive wings erupted from his back, tearing through his shirt, and leaving only rags hanging from his body. He grew thinner, grotesquely so, his ribs and breastbone were visible; he was barely a stick figure.

Emily got to her feet only to be knocked again to the ground by what appeared to be no more than the creature's gaze. The creature, no longer recognizable as Ian, still watched her. "Who are you?" She demanded.

He smiled. When he spoke, his voice was a rough, high-pitched growl. "Pazuzu, mate of Lamashtu."

Then it felt as if a dozen hands erupted from the ground and began to pull her. Through dirt and stone, they tugged and yanked, ripping her clothes as they all seemed to fight for access to her. They pulled her down into the ground with them, bony fingers digging sharply into her skin. Dirt and rocks rained down onto her as Pazuzu and the world began to disappear and they dragged her deeper into the ground. It so dark that she could see nothing, but she could feel the hands all over her. Cold fingers sliding over her body, broken nails digging into her skin. She coughed at the dirt that invaded her mouth and nose, choking on it.

Emily tried to fight, tried to grip the dirt and pull herself back up, but it was loose and broke apart under her fingers. She tried to stop them, kicking against the grabbing hands, but there was too many for her to defeat. Her clothes were mostly gone, but still they pulled her. Tugging and pulling from all different directions, but always pulling her further down. It felt like it would never end.

She had the sickening revelation that it never would.

* * *

"It is God Himself who commands you; the majestic Christ who commands you! God the Father commands you; God the Son commands you; God the Holy Spirit commands you! The mystery of the cross commands you! The faith of the holy apostles Peter and Paul and of all the saints command you! The saving mysteries of our Christian faith command you!" Father Fiore shouted, drawing a cross on Emily's forehead with each word.

Morgan had climbed off the floor, and was helping Hotch, Rossi and Jimmy hold her down. She was screaming and hissing, and she'd already bitten Rossi and scratched Jimmy. He kneeled next to Rossi, and set one hand on Emily's right thigh and the other on her belly. The deep ache intensified as he looked at her, her eyes sunken in, her skin paper-white, her lips chapped and bleeding, and eyes filled with contempt.

"I will kill you! I will kill you all!" The demon shouted. "I will cut open the bellies of your children, and drink their blood!"

She wriggled and fought, but they kept her pressed to the floor. Sweat was pouring off all four of them, and Hotch still looked pale and shell-shocked, his hands still bloody.

Fiore continued chanting the exorcism rite. "Depart now! For He has already stripped you of your powers and laid waste your kingdom, bound you prisoner and plundered your weapons! He has cast you forth into the outer darkness, where everlasting ruin awaits you and your abettors!"

"Abandon her and you will be spared! And Hell will come as disease to ravage her body with open sores! Leave her to perish! She is lost already!" The demon screamed as a putrid smelling pus began to pour from Emily's open wounds.

"Come on, Emily," he said. "Fight this, I know you can. Come on, come back to us."

"I compel you now, Lamashtu! With the power of God the father, Christ the son, and the Holy Spirit, I compel you to leave this woman!"

The creature screamed and screamed, and Fiori yelled back, Hughes, Richards and Jimmy all praying in tandem until the room reached such a fever pitch Morgan wanted to cover his ears. It felt like it went on forever, and endless cycle of chanting and unearthly screaming.

Emily began to seizure, her body tensing and twitching against their grip. Fiore and the others kept chanting. Rossi joined the priests, and Morgan began to pray too. It wasn't the same prayer, since it didn't know it, just a small repetitive plea to save his friend. Hotch glanced at him, and began to pray too, and Morgan heard feminine voices not long after that. The constant chorus of prayer nearly drowned out Father Fiore's shouts, and made the volume in the room almost unbearable.

Until everything suddenly became quiet. No one screamed, and Emily didn't move. Her battered, broken body was deathly still on the floor.

Morgan checked for a pulse, relieved to find her heart still beating steadily. He glanced at the priests.

"We must finish the rite," Fiori said, beginning to pray now. The other priests followed him. Morgan didn't recognize the prayers, and Rossi didn't seem to either, but the older man still kept his head bowed and his hands together.

He exchanged a look with Hotch, who gradually released his grip on her. Morgan released his own grip as well, but only long enough to slide his arms underneath her, and lift her into the air. He was about to set her on the bed when she gave a low moan. Her body tensed and a her eyes began to flutter, and she started to kick and push him away, while mumbling, "No, no."

He got her to the bed quickly, before risking dropping her. "Emily, it's me. It's Morgan."

She finally looked at him, and Morgan nearly cried when all he saw in her eyes was Emily.

Her voice shook and cracked when she spoke. "Where are we?"

"St. Agatha's parish in D.C." The relief on her face was so vivid it was almost frightening. "Where are you afraid to be, Prentiss?"

"Hell."

* * *

_There's only one more chapter after this, and an epilogue now, I can't believe this story is almost done. I'm hoping to get this finished by Halloween. That being said, it's been a hellishly busy and stressful couple of months, I have company coming into town this week, and crap keeps popping up for me to deal with, so I won't swear to that. _

_Thank you for reading!_


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: I meant to put a note on the last chapter, even though this was set before the Lauren-Doyle arc, he's still a part of her past, and therefore able to appear to haunt her, so to speak. And you can all thank Hurricane Sandy for this update, if she hadn't shut everything down, I wouldn't have had the time.  
_

* * *

Hotch slammed his hand down on the soap pump again, and lathered his hands thoroughly. He scrubbed up to his elbows and rinsed off again. His bloody shirt was already in the garbage, but he couldn't throw out his hands. No matter how much he wanted to at that moment. He wanted to stop seeing her blood all over them, and he wanted to stop feeling his hand sliding roughly into her body as her warm blood ran down his arm. He hit the pump again.

"You know, I don't think abusing the soap pump is the answer." He didn't even bother turning at the sound of Rossi's voice, just continued scrubbing.

"I hurt her," he said flatly.

Rossi's shoes tapped softly over the bathroom tile as came to stand beside Hotch. "No, you didn't hurt her. That damn demon hurt her, and used you to do it."

Hotch finally turned, whipping around to meet his friend's eyes. He snarled. "It used me to fist rape her."

"Yes, it did."

"How do I face her after that?" He and Prentiss had never really had the closest of relationships, but it was amicable and caring, if nothing else.

"You just do. She won't blame you, Aaron."

"She was sexually assaulted because I screwed up and let it into my head. How could she not blame me?"

"Emily is well aware that we have no experience fighting literal demons, and she knows that you'd never intentionally hurt her." Rossi shifted and regarded him. "Besides, you know her Aaron, if Emily blames anyone it will be herself."

"This isn't her fault. She had no control over any of the things it did while inhabiting her, and no one on this team is going to hold her responsible." Or Hotch would kick some ass, though he didn't expected he'd have to do so.

Rossi smirked. "Yes, just like you had no control over what the demon did while it controlled you."

"I knew she was vulnerable. I should have been more focused, I shouldn't have let it happen."

"If you'd had any control, you wouldn't have let it happen but you didn't. Hear me when I say that, Aaron. You didn't have any control. You need to understand and accept that, just like Prentiss will have to, but you'll need to deal with it first. She's going to have a lot more shit to deal with than you, and we all need to be there for her. You being awkward and avoiding her isn't going to help her."

Hotch grimaced. "You're right."

"So, you'll deal with this, and try to act normal when you're around her?"

"Yes, Dave, I'll try to be normal."

The older profiler smiled. "Good, because I can't deal with both of your overdeveloped guilt complexes at the same time."

Hotch rolled his eyes at his friend. He grabbed a paper towel, dried his hands, and then pulled a fresh shirt from his go-bag. He walked with Rossi through the church back down to the basement. The priests were still straightening the mess created by the exorcisms, and Father Fiore had been taken to a Catholic hospital to recover.

Most of the team was still gathering the torn bible pages, and nailing the crucifixes back into the four walls. The blood had been mostly cleaned up. The stains were still visible, but the liquid was gone. The bed sheets had been changed, and Emily had been cleaned up and dressed in a clean hospital gown. Garcia had volunteered to help the doctor with that chore, hoping to maintain some semblance of privacy for her friend.

Emily was still sleeping. She's passed out not long after waking up, and had been out since with no sign of coming to any time soon. An IV was in her arm, delivering saline to hydrate her and antibiotics for the open sores and numerous injuries. Her blood pressure, pulse and blood oxygen levels were being recorded on the monitor on the left side of the bed. Some of her larger cuts had either been covered in gauze or bandaids. The whole room reeked of antiseptic, which he could only imagine Prentiss had been slathered in. The doctor had told them that he'd start her painkillers when she woke up if her pain was severe.

Garcia suddenly appeared, Morgan in tow, a large vase of flowers in her hands, a blanket tucked under her arm, and ribbons for a quartet of "Get Well Soon" balloons wound around her wrist. Morgan held a TV try under one arm, a bag slung over the other, and his hands were filled with two books and a large stuffed cat. He nodded to Hotch, and gave Reid a grateful smile when he grabbed the cat and books. Morgan set up the table beside the bed, and Garcia set the flowers on it. She tied the balloons to the headboard posts and set the cat by the head of the bed. She spread the busy, rainbow-colored quilt over Emily, while Morgan stowed the bag – Prentiss's go-bag – underneath the TV tray, and the books on top.

The room already looked brighter. But it made Prentiss look that much paler and that much weaker.

Then with everything cleaned up and settled, the team turned to each other at a loss. Garcia pressed her quivering lips together, before taking a shaky breath. "Is it really over?"

"I saw her eyes, Babygirl, it was Emily. I think he's really gone." Morgan squeezed her shoulder.

"She," Reid said.

"What?" JJ asked.

"Lamashtu is a she. She's the companion of Pazuzu."

Morgan snorted. "The bitch is gone, that's all that matters."

Rossi grunted as he lowed himself to the ground, back sliding against the wall facing the bed. "Well, I for one, am going to sit here until she wakes up again."

The rest of them exchanged looks and nods, before each picking a piece of wall and floor to call their own for what was bound to be a long time. Morgan and Garcia were huddled together, the tech leaning heavily against Morgan, forever her rock.

His eyes were pointed toward the bed, but unfocused. Haunted.

They all looked haunted.

* * *

Emily's eyes fluttered open, and as conscious returned, the awareness of pain returned with it. Her whole body ached, her joints, her muscles, even her head, and there was a sharp pain between her legs. She moaned, and when she tried to move her body was further wracked by agony, and she whimpered with it.

"Emily?" Rossi was there, and Emily saw the rest of the team moving from positions sitting or laying asleep on the floor.

She bit her lip. "Everything hurts. God, what happened to me?"

"It had nothing to do with God, my dear." Jimmy, Rossi's friend, was beside her, his face set in a grave expression.

"You passed out shortly after you woke up yesterday. You've been out since," Morgan said, sliding his hand into hers.

Emily squeezed it gratefully. "Yesterday?"

"Emily, I'm Dr. Faber. I've been taking care of your medical needs here." He was perfectly normal-looking and seemed friendly enough, but the incongruity of all the people in the room made her wary.

She turned away from the doctor, and felt tears prick her eyes. She was so tired, she just wanted this all to be over, even if it meant her death. As it was, she was waiting for someone's face to melt into a pile of decay, or twist into a gargoyle-like image. Emily felt the tears hit her cheeks.

She suddenly felt a hand on her face, but it wasn't grabbing or pulling, it was gently brushing hair out of her eyes. Morgan leaned close, and his voice was so beautifully gentle. "It's okay, Em. Tell me what's wrong. We can get you painkillers if you need them."

Emily shook her head, and looked at him. Her voice was broken and breathy when she spoke. "I don't know if this is real."

Morgan crouched so that he was nearly face to face with her, and took her hand – mindful of the IV line coming out – and placed it over his heart. She could feel the soft beats beneath her palm. He rested his hand over her heart. "I've got a heartbeat and so do you, I think that makes us pretty real."

She began to cry then, though her sobs were silent.

"Hey, it's okay," Rossi said. "You're going to be okay."

She struggled to compose herself. "I can't go back there. I can't take anymore."

"Hell?" He asked, and his face said he wasn't joking.

"I know it sounds crazy – "

"It doesn't sound that crazy," Garcia said. She rested a hand on Emily's ankle, and offered her a guarded smile.

"What happened to me?" When no one spoke, Emily tried to lean up, and felt an excruciating pain in her groin area. She whimpered, and forced herself to sit up. "Please tell me."

It was Rossi who finally found the courage. "You were possessed by a demon, Emily."

She wanted to argue, wanted to insist it wasn't possible, but she knew it was true. She could feel it in her body and see it in their eyes. "It's gone?"

"Father Fiori performed the exorcism. You are safe now," Jimmy said.

She looked around then, and saw the blood on the floor that couldn't be completely washed away, and the bandage on Morgan's neck. "Oh god, did I do that?"

"I'm fine," Morgan insisted, squeezing the hand he was holding again.

Emily looked at the others. "Who else did I hurt?"

No one made to answer, but neither were they quick to say she didn't hurt them either. Hotch still hadn't even met her in the eyes. Pieces of memory floated back to her, it was all vague, but she remember seeing Morgan holding his bleeding neck, and she remembered Morgan holding her back, and Hotch protecting Rossi. She closed her eyes, and sunk back against the bed.

The doctor made a throat-clearing noise. "Alright, I'd like to examine Ms. Prentiss, and then let her get some more rest. Her body is going to need all it can get to heal."

They all began to shift and move then, and Morgan squeezed her hand again, before pulling his loose. "We'll be just outside, okay?"

Emily nodded, then sought out JJ and Garcia. "I need a minute alone with you guys."

They both looked wary, but stepped back toward her as everyone else left, including the doctor, who reminded her that he needed to examine her.

"Everything okay, sweetie?" Garcia asked.

"Yeah, I just didn't want to ask this with the guys here." She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. "It feels…" She inhaled and angled her eyes down at the colorful quilt. "It hurts between my legs."

Garcia looked quickly at JJ, who nodded at the tech. "You'll probably have to see your gynecologist when you're well enough. The demon, it used Hotch's gun on you."

"W-what?" She gaped. JJ suddenly took Emily's hand in both of hers, and began to describe what had happened.

Emily thought she might throw-up. "That's why he can't look at me."

JJ nodded. "You know how he is. Hotch is almost chivalrous."

She swallowed and held back her desire to cry. "What else did I do?" When neither made a move to answer, Emily pressed, "Please, I need to know."

Garcia sighed. "Just remember that none of this is your fault, okay?" Emily nodded, head tilting to one side as the exhaustion began to check-up to her.

"Rossi has a few scratches and a bite, very superficial though, Father Jimmy's hand is a bit burnt and he has some scratches too, Morgan's neck, and he's a bit sore as well, got thrown against a wall, and then Reid…"

The two blondes exchanged a look as Garcia trailed off. Emily felt her chest tighten in panic. "What about Reid? What happened?"

"Well," Garcia began, "the demon got a bit of a grip on his manhood, so he's going to be sore for a while."

"Oh my god." Emily raised a hand to her mouth.

"It's okay, really Emily. Reid kept a pretty cool head through the whole thing. He certainly doesn't blame you. None of us do." JJ rested a hand on her arm.

"What about you guys?" She looked between them.

"We were not physically injured," Garcia assured.

Emily almost felt relieved and then froze. "Wait, not physically, but psychologically?"

"Nothing permanent and nothing worse than middle school bullies would say."

"I'm sorry," she said, but it fell so flat. She wasn't quite sure how to deal with this. Her friends just offered her reassuring smiles. "Is that it?" She asked, cautiously.

"Well, you did French kiss me," JJ told her, a trace of amusement in her eyes.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, very traumatic that was." The blond smiled, eyes teasing.

Emily smiled slightly. "That's it then?"

"Oh!" Garcia said. "You should know that Morgan has now seen you in your birthday suit."

She grimaced. "Do I want to ask?"

"According to Derek, before the demon attacked him, it uh, offered you to him. When he politely declined, knowing something was very wrong with you, it got very angry."

"That's when I tore out part of his neck, wasn't it?"

"Actually yes, do you remember it?" Garcia asked.

Emily shook her head. "Not really. I remember afterward, when I saw him holding his bloody neck, and I remember running up to my bedroom naked." She paused to rest. "It seems like it was a long time ago though."

"Yeah, it's been a long couple of days." JJ released her hand. "And the doctor needs to examine you, and then you need to rest.

She nodded her head. She was so damn tired, she didn't object to being stuck in the clandestine church version of a hospital. Emily watched her friends go, shut her eyes and swallowed a sob.

At least none of them seemed mad at her, at least yet.

* * *

Emily spent another day in the church basement, before demanding to go home. Her sores had begun to scab, her vital signs were normal, and she'd opted against intravenous pain killers. Her body however was still one massive black and blue. Her wrists and ankles were dark purple from the restraints. Finger-shaped bruises marred her arms, her legs and parts of her torso, and massive bruises painted her body like a giraffe. She unsurprisingly was fighting a bladder infection, her groin area was bruised, and she was cut-up and inflamed inside. The doctor left her with some painkillers and antibiotics, and instructions to see her gynecologist. How she was supposed to explain what looked like an extremely violent rape to her OB-GYN without the woman calling the cops was a mystery.

Emily had apologized profusely to each and every member of her team, which hadn't been easy, especially with Reid or Hotch.

Reid was a little awkward with her, but assured her he didn't blame her. He just needed a little time to deal. As if to prove that things were fine between them, he'd given her a tight hug.

She'd had to force Hotch to look her in the eye. He'd started apologizing, but she'd cut him off abruptly and begun apologizing herself. Hotch had insisted if he couldn't shoulder any blame, then neither could she. She had no more control over the demon that he had. Hotch had also insisted that he'd try not to treat her any differently than he usually did, and that he'd prefer to act as if it never happened. Emily agreed to that plan, but wasn't entirely optimistic.

Rossi had hugged her tightly, and given her a necklace. It was a tiny silver cross, which he'd asked his friend Jimmy to bless. He hoped that if she wore it, it would offer her some protection from future assaults from demons. Emily promised never to take it off, and it was one of the easiest promises that she'd ever made in her life.

Emily had been relieved to hear that Seaver had missed most of the action, and that Strauss thought they all came down with the flu. Reid and Rossi had actually smiled when they'd explained that such an epidemic could hardly be avoided in a group that operates in such close quarters as theirs. Seaver had gone along with the plan without objection.

Emily sat in Morgan's car now, on her way to her apartment. She cleared her throat. "So uh, I heard you saw me naked?"

Morgan glanced at her, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Yeah, I guess I did."

She ran her tongue over her bottom lip, and tried to think of something to say. "I don't know what to do with that."

He looked at her again. "You don't need to do anything, Prentiss. I am your friend, I will forget what I saw, and I am your partner, I respect you enough not to made an issue of it."

"Thanks."

He simply nodded.

"This all sucks," she said.

Morgan chuckled. "Yes it does, but we will all heal and move on, and you'll be back to chasing down serial killers in no time." He paused, and she saw his mouth turn up in a grin. "And I promise I won't be thinking about you naked when you do."

She took the teasing for what it was, and gave him a light bump in the arm. "Funny."

"Seriously, Emily, it isn't a big deal." She nodded and he continued. "And I hope it won't be a big deal for you to have me crashed on your sofa tonight."

"What?"

"You really think any of us would have been okay with you going home if you were going to be alone?"

"I suppose I should have seen that coming," she said.

"Yeah, you probably should have. You should also know that after the last few days, your couch is going to be my new best friend until I'm comfortable that you're okay."

Emily blinked. "So what, you're going to sleep on my sofa indefinitely?"

"At least until you can more around without being in pain."

"That could be a while, Morgan."

He nodded. "I know that. I don't mind."

She was silent then, silent when she would have ordinarily argued. Morgan picked up on it.

He glanced from her to the road and back. "What? You aren't going to fight me on this?"

"As much as I loathe the idea of a babysitter…" She bit her lip.

"Emily?"

She turned to him. "I'm afraid to end up back there."

"It's over, Emily. The demon is gone, back to Hell. You are free."

She inhaled. "I hear you. I just don't quite believe you yet."

Morgan sighed. "Then believe this, I will be camped out your sofa until I'm satisfied you're okay, and you're satisfied that you're okay. Okay?"

She offered him a small smile. "Okay."

They were silent several minutes, until she spoke again. "Do you want to go to mass with me on Sunday?"

Morgan opened his mouth quickly, only to close it abruptly. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I would."

"I was thinking we could go to Jimmy's church."

He nodded. "Sounds good to me."

Emily tried to relax in her seat then, but still found it difficult. Part of her wondered if she'd ever relax again, if she'd ever dream without nightmares again. She wondered how many of the team were going to show up at Jimmy's church on Sunday. Emily fingered the silver cross around her neck, not something she'd ever have pictured herself wearing, but then she'd never pictured the last few days' events as actually possible.

It would be okay. The demon was gone. It was over.

Yet, she didn't quite believe that yet. Maybe by the end of the week, or maybe it would take years. She reached over and took Morgan's right hand. He glanced at her, but didn't say anything, just continued driving.

"Derek?"

"Yeah?" He glanced at her.

Her voice cracked. "Why did she pick me?"

* * *

_Thank you all for reading and reviews are always welcome. The last chapter, the epilogue, will hopefully be posted this weekend or next week sometime.  
_

**_To everyone riding out Hurricane Sandy, I hope you and your loved ones make it through safely!_**


	12. Epilogue

One Year Later

He wasn't sure when the exhaustion had finally won them over. Morgan blinked awake to see daylight streaming through his bedroom window. He pushed himself up on the bed, aware that he must have slid down the headboard during the night. The cards were discarded and spread all over the comforter, and Emily was curled on her side toward the end of the bed. Her cards were still loosely in her grip.

Morgan checked the time and then slid out of bed, leaving her to sleep a bit longer. He jumped in the shower, allowing the water to beat some of the ache out of his sore muscles. Emily had stayed at his place all week, and they'd spent most of those nights awake and hanging out.

She been scared and on edge, unable to sleep until pure exhaustion dragged her under. Last week she'd admitted to being afraid for the first time since he'd met her. She was terrified Lamashtu would try and take her again. Emily had feared that all year, but as the anniversary of her possession drew closer, the fear had gotten worse.

Morgan had offered to stay with her, but Emily wasn't keen on being at her house. So he invited her to stay with him. She'd been hesitant until Hotch, who'd overheard their conversation, encouraged her. He was afraid too.

They all were.

Morgan started the coffeemaker and stepped outside to grab the newspaper from his porch. By the time he got to the kitchen, Emily was sitting at the island looking bleary-eyed, her gaze pointed at something very far away.

"Hey," he said. "You with me?"

She turned and nodded, meeting his eyes. "Yeah."

It was Emily and only Emily. Morgan walked up to her, and set the newspaper down. He ran a hand slowly up and down her arm. A shaky sigh slid down her throat, and Emily rested her head against his chest.

Her voice cracked when she spoke. "She didn't come for me."

"Thank God for that."

Emily pulled back then and tucked all her fear and vulnerability back behind her eyes. "We still have a while before we meet everyone, right?"

"Yeah, why don't you grab a shower. I'll get breakfast started, what do you feel like?"

She shrugged. "Whatever you feel like is fine."

Morgan nodded and gave her hand a squeeze before she headed back up the stairs to the bathroom. He watched her disappeared and then pulled out his cell phone. Morgan typed in two words and sent the message off to their five teammates.

_All Clear._

* * *

Derek drove to Jimmy's church, and they immediately spotted their friends in the parking lot. Garcia was grinning at little Henry, who was cradled in her arms. Kevin beside her, making funny faces at the boy. JJ was bent down talking animatedly with Jack, who stood shyly by his father. Emily didn't see Reid or Rossi, but the latter was probably already in the church talking to Jimmy.

As they met the others, Emily was accosted with hugs first from a relieved Garcia and then an equally relieved JJ. Hotch simply smiled and nodded. They talked for a short time, before Reid ran up, hugging Emily as well, and they set out for the church.

This was a monthly event for them now, and had been for a year. One Sunday a month they'd meet at Jimmy's church for services and then go out for brunch afterward. Emily appreciated the show of support from her friends, most of whom were not Catholic, but all of whom seemed to gain a new appreciation for God. Herself included.

Emily went to church every Sunday, usually with Morgan. Rossi frequently joined them as well since they went to Jimmy's church. In the weeks following her exorcism, Emily had gone to church twice a week with Morgan, who'd remained at her side like a bodyguard. She figured it was as much for her peace of mind as his. The days in between she'd usually end up at the church as well.

Nightmares terrorized her for months. Horrible images. Amalgamations of her time in Hell and the worst of their case files. Emily would wake up in a cold sweat, throw on clothes and drive to Jimmy's church in a fit of terror. The first night she'd simply sat in a pew, silent and calm in the sanctuary. For the several following she'd slept in the pew, finding safety in the church.

Emily smiled now, as Jimmy took her hand and received her into the church. Unlike the others, he offered her a little hug before ushering her inside. Rossi was already inside, gesturing them into the pew he'd reserved and giving her a quick, affectionate squeeze.

After several of those nights of sleeping in his church like a homeless person, Jimmy had come to talk to her. He offered her an empty room in the rectory that he'd insisted with a smile was far more comfortable then the bench of a pew. Emily had hesitated at first, but eventually accepted.

For many nights the old priest welcomed her into that room, and most mornings she'd wake up to find him waiting for her with two cups of coffee set out. After first, they would just pray and talk quietly, but after a few weeks Jimmy began nudging her to cast away her fear. His gentle prodding and the constant vigilance and support of the team had helped Emily finally feel safe again.

Though she still made sure she made it to church every Sunday, even if it was only for five minutes while out of town on a case.

And in a year, she hadn't taken off the cross Rossi had given her. Not once. Not even to shower.

* * *

The whole table laughed as they watched Henry attack his syrup-soaked pancakes with glee. JJ and Will looked on with some amusement, the latter with his arm loosely around JJ. Exactly what JJ and Garcia had told Will and Kevin was the cause of their new team outing, she didn't know, but neither man seemed bothered by it.

Rossi nudged her from her left side. "So how did last night go?"

"Good. We hardly slept. I think Morgan and I played every card game from Go Fish to Rummy to Poker."

"I tried to get her to play strip poker, but she turned me down." Morgan said from across the table, winking at her.

"Smart woman," Hotch commented, a rare smile directed at Morgan.

"Hey now, at least I play fair. Garcia does not play fair."

"I do so!" She called from the other end of the table. "I was very fair when we played, you just lost!"

Kevin looked at her. "You played strip poker with Morgan?"

"No, honey. We played "if I win three times in a row, you take your shirt off". He lost, and it was before you and I met, so don't worry." Garcia gently patted his arm.

"I did not lose, you cheated."

"I did not cheat!"

"Babygirl, you literally stashed the aces up your sleeve!"

Garcia smirked. "Okay fine, I did. But with stakes that high, who wouldn't have?"

Rossi drew her attention again. "How do you feel now?"

"Better I guess. I still feel like she could come back any minute, but I'm thinking about it less. I don't think I would have gotten through the last year without all of you, and Jimmy."

He nodded. "He mentioned that you came around a lot for a while."

"Yeah, the nightmares…and I guess I needed to feel safe. Jimmy was really generous in helping me."

Rossi smiled. "I'm glad. He's a good guy."

"You guys have been friends since you were kids?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, if you can imagine that long. We drifted apart for a while, then I ended up at the BAU and the Vatican transferred Jimmy to D.C. and we reconnected. He insists it was part of God's plan, but I don't think we're important enough for God to notice."

Emily scoffed. "Well, I didn't imagine that I was important enough for a demon to notice."

"You have any thoughts about why she did?"

"Nothing that I can pinpoint. I've done my share of morally gray things though, probably more than my share."

Rossi looked at her pointedly. "If you're referring to what we discussed a couple years ago, then you should know that contrary to the Vatican's closed-minded teachings, that doesn't condemn you to Hell."

Emily sighed. "That is just the tip of a rather large iceberg, Rossi."

He stared at her, as if he didn't believe her. It was moments like these where Emily was reminded how little they knew of her past. They had no idea she'd been CIA, then Interpol. They didn't know the things she'd done, all of them morally gray. They didn't know about the albatross that hung around her neck, the Irishman with beautiful eyes, a gentle touch, and a psychopath's disregard for human life.

Emily often wondered if that's when Lamashtu took notice, when she was surrounded by soulless, conscienceless killers. But part of her knew if was before that. She wasn't certain when, but some inexplicable feeling told her that that ancient evil had been with her much longer than that.

She cleared her throat suddenly, and lifted her coffee cup, tapping it with her fork to get their attention. "I just want to say…um, it's been a rough year and…" She stopped, trying to gather her thoughts, her tongue flicking out over her top lip. Emily started again. "To family. You don't realize how important they are to you or you to them until they are the only thing standing between you and Hell. And, you'd be the first to do the same for any of them."

The table lit up with murmurs of agreement and the clinking of coffee cups. Jack carefully bumped his cup with his father's and a few others, and Henry, not to be left out, lifted up his sippy cup overenthusiastically causing Reid's coffee to slosh over the rim.

"Okay Buddy, I think you're done with toasting for today," JJ said while she and Will both handed Reid napkins to clean his the mug and his hand.

A foot bumped Emily's under the table and she looked across to Morgan. He was looking at her intently. "One day, Princess, you'll have to tell me about that iceberg."

She hadn't been aware that he'd overheard that, but Emily nodded. "Yeah, maybe one day."

Morgan looked from her to Rossi and held up his mug. "May that bitch stay in Hell for another thousand years."

_"I have seen things that I cannot explain. I have observed phenomena that I cannot deny." – Dana Scully, The X Files_

* * *

_First, I managed to quote the X Files for one of these, yay! Second, I realized that this kind of sounds like an advertisement for the Catholic church, but that was not my intention. I'm an agnostic, so yeah. I figured after everything that happened, they'd all cling to an extent to the religion that saved Emily.  
_

_Third, thank you all so much for the reviews on this story. It's been a rough couple of months, and that support for this story has meant a lot to me, especially since it's my first attempt at horror in years.  
_

_Thank you all for reading, reviewing, following and favoriting!  
_


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